


The Bastard of the Tailtean Plains

by Meatbike344



Series: Fairy Tales in the Dark [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Demon Deals, Demon/Human Relationships, Explicit Sexual Content, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, M/M, Revenge, Switching, Tragic Romance, no one is a good person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 47,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27280957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatbike344/pseuds/Meatbike344
Summary: When a scorn warrior with an unknown past approaches the Devil himself, the request he makes in exchange for his soul proves to be a brutal and heartwrenching affair, one that brings both of them together in the sheer violence and tragedy of it all.However, a contract is still a contract. And when the inevitable end comes, neither one will be so happy to part.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Fairy Tales in the Dark [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1889569
Comments: 16
Kudos: 56





	The Bastard of the Tailtean Plains

_Drink your tea, Felix._

_Come, would you like to hear a story? No, not the one on knights and princesses—aren’t you too old for those? No, this one is rather scary but a good legend should not be too much for you, hm? Oh, don’t give me that face—it’s interesting, really. Now listen close, little brother. Listen close and keep drinking—it’s good for the throat._

_If a traveler were to take the side route off the main roads of the Tailtean Plains, they would eventually reach the cross roads where a lone willow tree lies. At midnight, a man awaits underneath with a deal to offer—unlimited knowledge, unlimited strength, unlimited happiness—everything to one’s desires._

_A foolish traveler would accept the deal, no doubt, that they have stumbled upon a Djinn. But bad fortune awaits them when that stranger—the devil himself, appears to collect a debt: their soul._

_One day, a fellow by the name of Linhardt tried to fool the Devil of the Tailtean Plains; before accepting an offer for worldly knowledge, he presented a clause: the Devil could only steal away his soul if he were to ever step foot in Enbarr—which he did not plan to._

_The Devil could only grin at the man’s cleverness and accepted; Linhardt grew to be a renowned scholar and the head advisors to kings and emperors. He had libraries built in his name and was invited to teach at different schools as a guest professor. Linhardt had become the world's wisest man._

_To celebrate his victory, he decided to drink at the most expensive tavern in the city. But when Linhardt walked through the door, the Devil greeted him at the counter._

‘ _My friend, are you here to celebrate my success?’ asked the scholar._

‘ _Nay, for it is my victory we celebrate: your soul, my good sir!’ Declared the Devil._

_Linhardt laughed. ‘My soul? But this is not Enbarr.’_

‘ _Truly? Then, what is the name of this fine establishment?’_

_Panic settled in Linhardt as he raced outside and looked up the sign outside._

‘ _End Bar’_

_At that moment, the scholar fell dead, his soul now in the arms of the elated Devil._

_Do you understand, Felix? No matter what they do, the Devil will always claim his debt—he may smile and sing so sweetly of friendship, but when that fateful day comes, expect to pay in full._

_Oh Felix, do not be frightened! It is simply a legend: I doubt it has any merit at all, unless you’re that desperate to get your wish granted. But don’t worry, I’ll always be here to protect you._

_Drink your tea, Felix. See, doesn’t that feel better. What? No, no, who says you are dying?_

_It’s...It’s just a cough, Felix! I promise. Does it hurt? I see…_

_I’ll be going to work soon—for the Fighter’s Guild. I’ll be able to get enough money for medicine and food for us, so don't worry about a thing._

_What? You want to join too? How can you fight with those tiny little arms?_

_Oh Felix, I jest! I jest!_

_When you get better, I’ll bring you in the guild myself. Train you to be a fast and strong warrior._

_I promise: it will be you and me against the world._

_I promise._

**~ The Six Heavenly Kings~**

In the age of bandits, vagabonds, and beggar knights, the Fighter’s Guild of Garreg Mach was the only source of control and justice in the land. An organization of seasoned warriors who pledge themselves to servicing Fódlan and protecting the people. These fighters arrived from all parts of the country and even places beyond, all conjoined right in the heart of the land at an ancient monastery.

From newly recruits who wanted training to aid in the preservation for their villages to famed champions who sought a good challenge through membership, the Fighter’s Guild was famed for their diverse and powerful stock.

And then there were The Six Heavenly Kings.

The Six, as the long-winded title suggests, were the six most powerful and strongest warriors in the guild and, quite possibly, in the world. Their name slipped through the mouths of shivering bandit lords and war kings like the curse of the devil and the sight of one of them alone is enough to drive back the hordes to their dark and wet lairs.

A violent storm that passed through suddenly and without warning, and left nothing behind but destruction. A reminder for the temptation of evil. It was universally agreed that these six warriors were bestowed the eternal title of kings, a mark for the world to recognize their greatness and authority.

The Six Heavenly Kings: Bergliez. Macneary. Charon. Goneril. Pinelli. Fraldarius.

And then there were only five.

One day, they all left the Guild without warning and spread out across the world until their figures were mere dots in the horizons—speculative pinpoints on a global map, but no such way for direct location.

The five. And then there was one.

He came in from under the blood horizon, smelling of wolves, rain, and death.

_______________

The Tailtean Plains at midnight was a land metamorphose into an unholy, ravished zone drenched in crying trees and ink black darkness. At midnight, the inns, which scattered around the edge of the land extinguish itself like a candle snuffed out suddenly; caravans and merchants stop for the night, forbidden in passing through the ancient woods; the birds choke on their songs and wait for the edge of dawn.

At midnight, man sits and waits for the lights over the treetops of the Tailtean Plains. But time here is controlled not by the slowed turn of the world, anchored by the many-starry eyed God that sleeps within and the small, alien lights meandering across the ink-black sky.

At midnight, the Tailtean Plains returns to the outstretched hands of an ancient God and evicts any sign of civilization and mankind.

The only revolution comes in the form of a single stranger staggering down the path like a man to the gallows. A stranger trespassing through a land unwanted of his presence, xenophobia hissing from the shadows.

It was all dark and eerie and ominous like suffocating mist building up, climbing and seeping into every crevice. But the stranger stalked off without any notice to the flourishing oppression around; the forest opened up like a flower in the sun and allowed the trespasser into the sacred city.

At the heart of the Tailtean Plains, only shown and accessed at the height of midnight like an ancient kingdom submerged underwater, was the crossroads.

At the center was a single, blue willow tree, mildly slipping into the small, black lake which stretched outward to the abyss. The stranger stopped just right at the split of the roads where the weeping curtain of the willow tree fluttered before him. It was merely a tree yet, here on the Tailtean Plains, the act of entering was as taboo as passing through someone’s house uninvited.

He stopped at the leaves, blinking away at the darkness and tapped his heels together to clear the dirt before slipping inside. The small space beneath the tree itself was strangely lit—illuminated the lights rippling off of the lake. The ground around him was dry and warm and he sat down to rest his weary legs.

The stranger had come a long way to reach this very spot though he was hardly an outsider to this land. The stranger squeezed the rainwater out from the ink-black of his long hair and grumbled away the stinging pain of his right arm.

His entire legs stung from hours and hours of walking and hiking, and everything swelled weakly from beneath his skin. The man sighed loudly and leaned forward so his head rested against the willow trunk. In that moment, he closed his eyes and thought pleasantly of someone precious in memory.

After a minute of listening to the gentle sloshing of water against the soft riverbank came a set of light and airy steps coming down towards the crossroads—too small to be an animal but heavy enough to belong to a person. The stranger immediately perked up and shifted back, staring at the willow tree leaves with quiet anticipation.

A single black glove slipped through the leafy curtain and parted it to show the approaching visitor outside. A man revealed himself—pale-faced with a single blue eye with a crown of soft, golden hair; his entire body was cloaked in black midnight robes, almost like strips of physical shadows strapped around his figure.

The visitor’s one glowing eye immediately spotted the other man sitting by the trunk; a pure white smile slit across the pitch blackness like a razor and the phantom entered.

“I see I am not the only one seeking sanctuary from this rainy night,” a deep voice uttered like a far away church bell.

The stranger settled closely on the other side of the tree and leaned his sharp chin against his gloved hand. He inspected the visitor with a careful scrutiny and the air stilled to a cordial coldness.

“Are you here to check out silly legends as well?” he asked coolly as his dark hair dripped wet down his cloak. The stranger’s harsh, sunset gaze flickered between the black figure of his new companion to the water nearby, indecisive on where to look. He finally settled carefully on the small waves of the lake.

“Legends?” The other man asked, head tilted curiously.

“Here at the crossroads, at this hour, right here under this willow tree.” The stranger gestured with his strong arm around the small space between them. “The devil is supposed to appear to make a pact.”

“Ah, that legend! Did you come here to try to summon it?”

“You think I come all the way here to the most wretched place in this country just to sit and enjoy the view?” He grumbled and touched his right arm. “I don’t believe in foolish wives’ tales so you can imagine my desperation.”

“Oh yes, these plains are hardly a place of leisure,” his companion remarked with a curling, bemused grin. “Now, if the devil himself should appear, what would your wish even be?”

The man stared sharply at the ground, something painful and hot flashes momentarily across his face—sharp features glistening like the edge of a knife. Finally, after a moment, the man reached over and peeled the flap of his own coat to showcase his arm.

A pale arm bounded tightly with bandages and hung limply at his side.

The visitor blinked rapidly as if trying to see something that appeared momentarily in his vision, and pulled back.

“Your arm…”

“It’s useless—permanently crippled a while back. There is nothing that can be done.”

The visitor’s single blue eye stared intently at the broken limb with a glint the other man cannot decipher though it made him shiver. Finally, the blonde man crossed his arms and nodded rather knowingly.

“You’re a warrior, aren’t you?” He stated in a matter-of-fact way. “I know a sword arm when I see it.”

The stranger arched an impressed brow and hummed. “Despite having only one eye, you are quite observant. Yes, I used to fight in the Guild before I crippled my arm...before she crippled my arm and stole everything away from me,” he added with a hissing spite that the air became hot and feverish.

The visitor nodded and his smile grew to a long and excited slit. “Ah, and you’re hoping that the Devil would play the invincible doctor? You do realize that your soul will be on the bargaining table.”

“I know and that’s not all I want.” He peered around and frowned. “But...maybe I came here for nothing. I see no horned, red creature coming to offer me any cruel deal.”

A dark chuckle; the shake of an amused head. “Horns? Red? I’m not my sister.”

“Pardon—”

Suddenly, the entire area beneath the tree shifted with an explosive, consuming mist, and the stranger felt himself being physically thrown upward violently.

There was no chance for him to yell as his breath was stolen away suddenly from the rush of wind and atmosphere. His legs dangled uselessly in the fast moving air, his only good hand finding nothing to grasp onto except his own clothes as his body launched up somewhere far and detached.

The man shut his eyes and prayed to the Gods he long denied, waiting for the bloody death to strike against his backside like a hammer.

But it never came.

Instead, he finally opened his eyes to the sight of the blonde man—one blue eye glinted mischievously, as he stood completely still in the very thin air. The stranger looked down, saw how his entire body was floating nearly one hundred feet from the ground, how the entire forest spread out across the Tailtean Plains and even the lights of civilization in the far distance.

He swallowed, found his breath, and shot a troubled gaze to the visitor—to the devil, the Bastard of the Tailtean Plains. Simply a one-eyed man; not a horned creature with wings or even a twisted beast of scales and furs like what some of the more creative story books tend to depict.

Just a man—hardly distinguishable, and yet, all around and absolutely terrifying.

“I-I thought you would be more...scarier,” the stranger managed to say with a swallow.

The demon laughed into his gloved fist. “Yes, yes, I am aware of the prejudices of your kind. Always assuming before meeting. Well, fear not: I am not one bit slighted by your childish imagination, my soon-to-be client. We are here to talk business, aren’t we?”

“Yes we are,” the other man said and sat up against the air, still wary on how any of this was possible. His long, black hair fluttered in the cool, upper wind and below, the tree tops. “This is….well, I never thought you would actually show up.”

“It is as you say: you were desperate. And now I’m here. Isn’t that enough, my inquisitive little thing?” the demon remarked with his brow arched. “If you want, you can pinch yourself and see if this is a dream.”

His teasing tone was laced with clear, dripping venom, one that mocked derisively. But the threatening intent was plain, almost as if he were goading the other man to back down now from the exchange. One last chance to turn back around and reject the ghastly deal. However, the effect was the pure opposite.

“Don’t you dare patronize me! No, we shall go straight into business, demon,” the stranger snapped with a growl as his eyes glowed like fire.

He touched his broken right arm, feeling how twisted and taut the bone was beneath. “There are two things I need from you. Once these two things are succeeded, you may have my soul. All of it.”

“How straightforward! I like this, but tell me, other than mending your arm, what else could you want from me? Wealth? Power? Love?”

The stranger was the one to snicker and he gave an ugly chortle at the demon’s response. “I have no use for love. No, I need your assistance after my arm is repaired.” He stopped, staring up to the moon and the stars; his face twisted into a red-faced, aching snarl with the coming of dark thought and he returned back to his smiling loaner. “I want revenge.”

The demon’s face fell immediately to a bored lull and he yawned dramatically into his palm, mouth pulled up to reveal a set of sharp, inhumane teeth. “Typical, typical. Why is it that your kind is so spiteful towards each other? War. Murder. Revenge. Ah, well, it seems strange for something like I to lecture you. Yes, I can help you with revenge. Is it against the one who broke your arm?”

“There’s five of them. Five warriors...who used to be a part of my Guild.” The stranger’s frown deepened. “I want you to fix my arm. And then, you shall accompany me in locating each of these warriors so I may execute them myself.”

“Ah, so you are death and I am the one who marks the victim…yes, that can work,” the demon whispered ever so sweetly, his single blue eye glowing with absolute lust and hunger.

A deep chuckle rumbled through his throat and he tapped on his nose. “Yes, I can smell the evil ones in your mind. They have wronged you dearly—oh so dearly, and they must pay with blood.”

The stranger nodded. “After they die, you may have my soul. There will be nothing for me to live for after I get my pound of flesh.”

“Would you like to confirm our deal?” A parchment and a small knife appeared out of thin air and the demon gestured to the man to it; a contract with an empty line slit at the bottom. “If you want your blood, you must give up some blood. Simple as that.”

The stranger took the knife almost instantaneously and pricked his finger without wincing; he dabbed the part where his signature was supposed to go—the blood congealed violently on the page and began to move around in small trials until it formed a name.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius.

Somewhere deep in Felix’s soul, he felt the hard stamp of claim—the mark of ownership like a striped pig at an auction. He clutched at his heart and hissed at the dull sensation that racked through his slender body, but it quickly went away. The weight of the mark still remained, however, and he felt much heavier.

The demon turned the contract over and stared at the bloody signature, smiling tooth-to-tooth. “Ah, Mr. Fraldarius, it seems like you and I will be working together for the next few weeks. Let’s hope this partnership works out for the best.”

Felix frowned, still unstable from the pain. “Y-Yes, let’s hope. And you—what am I supposed to call you? You will be traveling with me so I doubt I can continue referring to you as the bloodthirsty demon that you are.”

The Bastard of Tailtean Plains bowed gallantly as though he were courting a noblewoman for a dance at a ball and looked up to reveal a shining, handsome face, devoid of any earlier amusement. “This one may call me, Dimitri.”

An ordinary, plain name. “Dimitri?”

“Your most esteemed and humble servant in your journey for blood! Now, come Mr. Fraldarius: I must see to your sword arm.”

Reluctantly, Felix brought his bandaged arm out across the space between him and the great demon. Dimitri hummed to himself, clasped an extremely cold hand right at the torn bicep, and closed his eyes. There was a moment where a sharp pain wavered deep in Felix’s bone that almost made him lurch back, but Dimitri’s grip was firm—held him in place as an active and thriving sensation flushed hotly down his entire arm.

The man threw his head back and hissed, shaking a bit before the cool relief set in like medicine to a stomachache. It washed over him pleasantly and Felix finally peered over his arm; Dimitri had relinquished his hand and returned to the man a perfectly mended arm—bones healed and placed back properly as though it was never broken in the first place.

Felix blinked as though he were dreaming, brought his arm back slowly with every lean muscle flexed with warm blood flushing beneath the skin. He stared at it, turning his wrist slowly and clenched his hand. For a ghost of a second, a smile broke away from his dower expression—but only a second before the man returned the arm to his side and nodded solemnly.

“Your dark magic restored my arm. No one could help me, not even the best healers and doctors across the land. Now, not a crippled man no longer, I will pick up my blade and seek my prey,” Felix declared solemnly, his voice slightly shaky with wonder.

Dimitri clapped with a waning smile and nodded. “Your enthusiasm is absolutely infectious, Mr. Fraldarius. Infectious indeed! You will certainly prove to be a better client than my last.”

“Oh yes, I am quite aware of your past exploits,” the man grumbled with an oppressive memory of childhood. He pointed to the demon rather accusingly, eyes drawn together tightly with a steely look. “Know this demon: you are my tool. You will help me achieve my revenge and no more. And I swear if there is any betrayal—”

“To think of betraying you is impossible! We are bound by contract, dear sir. I would not think to ruin our professional relationship through human trickery,” Dimitri rebuked kindly with a bit of a sneer. He waved a hand dismissively and shook his head. “No, no, I am completely at your service from the top of your kill list to the very bottom. I will locate and guide you across the world until each name is checked off. Sounds good?”

Felix grumbled and turned away with his arms crossed, the act alone almost making him glow from being able to do so. It was simply a solitary moment before he nodded, agreeable.

“Yes, well, your silver tongue won’t earn any points with me, Dimitri. Speak plainly and we should be fine. Come, let us return to the forest and I will tell you the names of the one I seek. The earlier I can leave, the better.”

Dimitri bowed with his arms extended beneath his chest; the submission to a nobleman. Once he lifted his head to greet his new sullen master, the demon’s blue eye glowed faintly with unknowable, dangerous interest, a white-fanged smile meant to devour.

“Lead the way, Mr. Fraldarius. I will follow you in **earnest** devotion.”

  
  


**| Caspar of Bergliez |**

The first name on Felix’s list was a renowned one: Caspar of Bergliez.

A famed knight hailing from the southern parts of Fódlan who was beloved for his strength, determined will, and a jovial, sunny disposition. However, despite his apparent good will, Caspar’s strength was enough to topple down entire armies with just his bare hands.

True to the name, he was a worshiped celebrity in the country—so much so, that even Dimitri immediately recognized the warrior’s name when Felix brought him up for their first search. The Bastard of the Tailtean Plains himself—historically recorded for his ancient wickedness and elusive nature—broke away from his usual serenity and blinked at Felix, head tilted slightly to the side.

“That Caspar? Now what has a fellow like that done to slight you?” he asked with a slight hint of curiosity.

Felix frowned deeply at the inquiry, as if Dimitri just cursed at him, and turned away defiantly. “Why should that matter to you? You’re my servant—all you have to do is find them for me, and I will take care of everything.”

“I suppose that’s true. I am in the business of servitude, after all. Though it won’t hurt to share with me since you too will be gone after this nasty affair.” Dimitri smiled sweetly without any malice. “Unless the dead man wants to keep his secrets?”

“Find Caspar, Dimitri.”

The demon simply shrugged and closed his eyes in deep, mystic search.

Felix watched him warily from afar, the two standing in the low valley of the Tailtean Plains once the dark-haired warrior returned from preparing himself for the long and grueling journey ahead. He was draped in a long coat, with bandages and ointment for the limbs, and healing powder for the body.

By his side, where his newly restored right arm rested, was a long and foreign blade strapped to his hip. It shone like crystal snow in the sun and sung wistfully like rain.

The warrior peered down at his sword, wrapped his gloved hand around the hilt, and felt the warmth of inheritance. Suddenly a cold hand clasped around his shoulder and he turned around to greet the intimately close face of Dimitri and his one arctic blue eye gazing directly at him in earnest joy.

Felix held his breath.

“The knight called Caspar is traveling somewhere around the Hevring region in the south. It appears to me that he is simply wandering without purpose,” Dimitri said.

“Would you still be able to track him?”

“Yes, but it will still be difficult since he is moving all the time. Now, I suggest you hold on and I can fly us—”

“No need,” Felix said with his hand raised sharply. He walked past Dimitri and peered out to the great horizon. “I wish to kill them—without your physical aid. I will walk, I will fight, and I will kill. All you have to do is sniff them out and point the way, you boar.”

Dimitri smiled shortly, his gaze boring holes into Felix’s strong back. “Are you sure you don’t want me to just fly us there? It will cut the travel time in half.”

“You’ll get your soul in the end!” The warrior snapped suddenly with a sharp hiss. “No, this is my journey. If Caspar is in Hevring, I will travel to Hevring without the aid of magic. Perhaps along the way, I can get back into the swing of things with all these bandits the Guild neglected to keep track of.”

“Pragmatic little thing. Very well, as you say, Mr. Fraldarius. But I’ll do my best to help you in more ways than just tracking.”

“Oh, like what?” 

Dimitri grinned with teeth. “By keeping you alive, of course! We had a deal, after all.”

Felix clasped a hand over his cold blade and closed his eyes to the kissing wind. “I know...I know.”

A voice beckoned to him, but he was too far gone to recognize it.

_______________

Hevring was quite a way from the Tailtean Plains, centered in the deep south of Fódlan. The way down was treacherous in its own right; since the Five had abandoned the guild and disappeared to parts unknown, bandits and marauders have appeared in the hundreds from the woodwork and flooded the regions of Fódlan.

Villages were left to burn, extorted, pillaged, and utterly claimed by different parties in what appeared to be a violent celebration of their liberation from the Guild, and more specifically, the Six Heavenly Kings.

As the country slowly fell under with many tiny fires spread across the land, travel became absolutely suicidal with merchants unable to leave Eastern Fódlan with their goods—no aid could come to any of the stricken regions and the major cities had to lock themselves down.

The Guild, itself, was having despairing trouble over containing these ravaging masses and pulled back momentarily to recount their losses since the champions had all but left. From the absence of champions came ruin.

Fódlan was dying.

And yet, Felix has long decided to make the journey south to Hevring. Dimitri merely laughed at his client’s stubborn will, shook his head, and accompanied the young man as they began the tortuous trench from Northern Fódlan to the south.

The main roads, which were always used by caravans and merchants from the east, were all but abandoned with very little horse tracks or footprints anywhere in the wet soil. Of course, Felix had long understood that the main roads were not an option anymore, not since the highwaymen took over. Even the inns on the side of the road for travelers had to hire heavy guards to keep the trouble away.

Traveling on the main road was asking for trouble. But that was exactly Felix was asking for.

“Tell me, how did you come to know Caspar in the first place?” Dimitri asked as they trailed down the ever-darkening road; in the distance was a bridge and even more forests spreading out across the hostile land.

Felix stared straight ahead. “We were in the guild together,” he replied simply.

“Ah, right, of course. The Six Heavenly Kings, hm? Strange it is for humans to give each other titles when their fates are all but the same. I suppose it is the only way to achieve immortality among your kind.”

“I agree, it’s stupid. It was a stupid title. It made their egos swelled to that of Gods. But none of them are Gods. They’re humans—and I will show them just that.”

Dimitri chuckled, broad shoulder shaking in amusement, and he sighed out loudly. Everything made him smile, everything made him laugh; all was humor for the demon, but Felix supposed that it was simply Dimitri’s nature—he mocked mankind and it was nothing more than both a meal and a source of entertainment for him.

The demon stared at his client and hummed pleasantly. “You’re very blunt, Mr. Fraldarius. That warrior life for you must keep your manners on the back burner.”

“What’s the use of manners when I speak through the blade? Besides, I despise politicians,” Felix offered slowly, looking Dimitri directly in his one eye this time; it made the demon happy with brimming cheeks to be regarded.

“Hah! Well said, Mr. Fraldarius! I’ll do my best to try and keep my remarks on the downside.”

“Please. Do.”

It was already hours since they left the north; the sun had long set before them with trails of purple and red bleeding into the black starless sky, and Felix had found himself growing both irritated and intrigued by his traveling companion.

The demon had already started off on the wrong foot with the warrior, with how he always smiled when there was nothing to smile at, or how he spoke so sweetly like honey dripping from a hive—the same sweetness Felix was never able to stomach properly.

At first, he believed Dimitri to be in performance as all demons were creatures of temptation, but now it almost seemed like everything the creature said was sincere and that was what scared Felix the most.

Dimitri kept true to his word and simply walked slightly behind the warrior like an obedient hound; whenever Felix turned around, he stopped and waved with a pleasant grin. Not a word, all smiles, and the raven-haired man felt a deep sickness stir within him. But, he’ll continue enduring, even against a dangerous entity like Dimitri—they’ll all meet their end and Felix will give himself up, body and soul.

But for now, he had purpose.

As the pair reached the stone bridge, the deep foliage on both sides rustled abruptly as though a wild animal was passing through them. However, heads emerged out from the leaves—entire dark bodies slipping out onto the road from the forest, blocking Felix and Dimitri’s way to the bridge.

Four men, their faces shadowed from the dead sun with just the shine of their sword and axes along with a malevolent, laughing grin. The tallest man stepped forward—their leader—and pointed a long blade at them, shivering with impatience. The pair stopped just a foot away and Felix stared dully at the sudden company as Dimitri whistled nonchalantly.

“Not a good time for a night walk, my friends,” the leader announced with a voice dripping in false sympathetically. His buddies snickered behind him and he shook his head. “There are so many deaths staining this land and we wouldn’t want to contribute to it, would we?”

“What do you want, bastard?” Felix called out, his hand already gripping his blade.

Behind him, Dimitri was staring idly between the warrior and the highwaymen, slightly amused, but his hands were clasped around his back as if to suggest his neutrality.

The leader grinned sharply, no longer hiding his intent. “Easy—your coin or your life!”

The blade pulled out, shining blue like ice. “Try me.”

There was a rush of movement. No one, with the exception of Dimitri who widened his gaze in mild surprise, saw what had happened. The leader had not moved; he did not even have enough time to react as the still hand that held his sword fell to the wet ground with a thud.

A squirt of blood splattered on the nearby grass. An ear piercing scream. And the red eyes of a swordsman glazed over in boredom.

“What the fuck?!” The leader cried out, holding onto his sliced, handless arm.

He staggered back to his horrified men who surrounded him with noiseless faces. Blood continued to spew out from the sliced knob, painting trails in the ground around them in a deep red flush; he wailed and thrashed, holding his arm up as it poured down his leather armor and breeches.

Another quick flash of blue and the leader fell backwards; the flesh of his head turned dark and rolled over to the feet of his men—it landed on the stump of its neck, staring up at them with lifeless, milky eyes. No one screamed. No one moved. They all stared at their glorious leader before locking eyes with the sunset eyed swordsman who placed his sword back into his stealth.

“He spoke too much,” Felix addressed to the head in a low voice as a visible shudder passed over the other three. He lifted his gaze and arched a brow questionably, hand already hovering back to the hilt in preparation. “Now, as for the rest of you lot…”

Two of the men braved themselves with a rush of stupid bravado for their fallen brother and clambered forward like overweight hogs to the meal, unaware of the slaughter that awaited on the other end. Felix rose his sword up and brought it down swiftly—heads fell off the shoulders and fell to the wet mud with a sickly thud.

The last man’s sword fell and he practically squirmed on the ground, shivering white of death. Felix returned his icy blue sword to his side and regarded the stranger dully—as one peered to a cockroach on a wall.

“W-Who are you?” the bandit shuddered nervously while the dark blood of his comrades congealed in a small puddle around him, decorated in headless bodies.

Felix scowled and showed a bit of his teeth. “Glenn Fraldarius of the Fighter’s Guild. Go tell your kin that I will clean this world of your kind and its oppressors.”

The man’s eyes bulged, almost popping off his skull. “Wait! Glenn as in—“

“Go!”

Without another word, the bandit stumbled up and made for a mad dash across the woods with a loud, half-sobbing breath. Felix watched the spot where he once sat, saw a small spot where the man had pissed himself from fright, and breathed harshly through his nostrils.

The sound of clapping radiated behind him and he peered over his shoulder to his companion, who met him with utmost admiration. Flushed spots burned on his white cheeks, and his one blue eye shone with suffocating love. He picked up one of the heads, examining it with a low whistle, before turning it back around and grinning.

“Ah, my beloved Fraldarius! Quite a show you put on! Quite a warrior you were! My, I have never witnessed anything so breathtaking before in my life,” Dimitri uttered amiably, addressing the swordsman with the voice of an enamored, nervous schoolboy. “I see you need no help in combating the other warriors.”

“Damn straight,” Felix replied, allowing himself a moment of pride before wiping the blood spots from his cheeks.

“But, I must ask: why did you call yourself ‘Glenn’?” The demon went on in genuine curiosity.

The swordsman’s face went cold without life and he turned around to face the dark bridge ahead. “A pseudonym and nothing more. Come, Dimitri—there is an inn a mile from here we can rest for the night.”

“Ah, yes, of course, Mr. Fraldarius. Right away,” Dimitri said, suddenly lowering his voice intimately upon Felix’s direct call of him. He dropped the head back into the mud and hurried after the swordsman with a smiling, flustered expression.

Behind them, starving coyotes await in the forest for the demon and the warrior to leave before scurrying over to the bodies and feasting for the long and fortunate night. Fódlan had been a land quite bountiful for its scavengers as of late and they sincerely hoped that it would never end.

_______________

Despite the fact that Felix was covered in mud and blood from his earlier scuffle, the innkeeper gave the swordsman no problem securing a room—probably from how Dimitri slipped up to the counter and cooed to her sweetly. The woman’s cheeks reddened, clearly fallen for the demon’s intoxicating thrall as she handed the pair their room keys for the evening.

However, neither of them went up to their rooms right away. Dimitri pulled Felix into the tavern part of the inn, mostly occupied by sleeping drunks and sad women, probably hiding out from most of the violence that overtook their settlements. The demon held two fingers up to the bartender and he nodded silently.

“What are we doing here, Dimitri?” Felix asked wearily, rubbing his eyes.

“Drink? Maybe dinner,” the demon said suggestively and touched the swordsman’s arm in a light manner. When Felix shoved him away, he laughed and turned to the counter.

“Are you ever tired? Of pretending to be happy all the time?” The man interrogated with a heavy breath, staring off at the various barrels that littered the far back wall of the tavern, marked with different pictures—grapes wines and barley beer.

“Who says I’m pretending?” Dimitri said with an arched brow; his smile faltered a bit at the man’s suggestion, but still a smile nonetheless. “What of you? Aren’t you tired of being angry all the time?”

“There is nothing to be happy about. Have you seen what has happened to this country?” Felix blinked as realization flushed upon his face. The swordsman gave a derisive snort, slapping the counter over his own ignorance as Dimitri looked on, perplexed. “I just realized who I’m talking to. Never mind.”

“So because of my...nature, you assume I am overjoyed by the despair of your kind?”

The bartender came over and placed two mugs of red wine in front of men along with some bread and cheese. Felix nodded graciously to him, even flipping the man a coin, before turning back to Dimitri.

For the first time, the demon was not smiling. A frown upon the facade of wickedness was even scarier than that of a cat’s grin, and Felix felt himself pinned right at the stool. Neither of them said anything to each other, merely staring in disquieted observation, before Dimitri broke away.

He grabbed a block of cheese, chomped down on it without any bread, and chewed while gazing off dimly into space. The Bastard of Tailtean Plains was said to have hunger in poor souls alone and that all acts of physical eating was merely a ploy to fit into human society.

And yet, Dimitri quietly nibbling on a block of cheese without another word provoked a sense of unwanted sorrow in Felix. He turned away and immediately started chewing on the bread laid out in front of him. The tavern fell into a low, human sound and for a moment, the swordsman almost forgot who he was sitting next to.

Almost.

“What happened to your arm anyway? Did your former friends do that to you?” Dimitri finally said, his usual grin returned upon his face though not as strong.

“Only one of them, but the rest of them still have to pay,” Felix muttered.

“Pay for what?”

“Oh, read my mind, why don’t you? You can sense where they all are in this world but you can’t look into my personal life? Would save you some time.”

Dimitri shook his head. “Oh no, I can. It’s just that I won’t.”

Felix stopped and turned to the demon, bread crumbs covered on his lips. He did not understand what exactly he heard—an admission of powers being held back with intention. And when Felix really scrutinized Dimitri’s face, he realized that the demon was not lying; the swordsman felt a laugh congeal at the base of his throat and he let out a low, dark chortle in complete disbelief.

“You...refuse? Why?”

“It’s not polite.”

“You must be shitting me.”

“Mind your tongue, Mr. Fraldarius! Even in a tavern, you must have your senses together,” Dimitri suggested gently. “Yes, I understand your prejudice: I am a demon so I therefore must dominate your body and mind completely. But understand this: I only use my powers to seek your prey. That was all that was required of me. It would overstep boundaries if I...probe any further. If I genuinely want to know more, you would give it to me if you are comfortable.”

“So that’s why you ask so many annoying questions,” Felix muttered with a tired-sort of smile. “A polite demon. Perhaps you’re right—I am prejudiced and quick to judge. But what does it matter if I am die soon anyway? No, I need to focus everything on finding the Five.”

“Caspar is still in the Hevring region. We will be there tomorrow by midday, maybe even earlier if the road is kind. But I ask of you this: the knight is a formidable enemy. Do you feel confident in bringing forth his demise?”

“Absolutely, Dimitri. Absolutely.”

“I drink to your future victory, then,” Dimitri said quietly and brought the mug to his lips.

Felix mirrored the demon’s movements but became instantly dizzy when the wine went down his throat. He swayed a bit but kept drinking the sweet, liquid drink; his ears rang pleasantly and he offhandedly wondered if he was always this light-weight. Someone was talking, whispering in his ears.

“Are you well, Mr. Fraldarius?...Mr. Fraldarius? Fel—“

The swordsman dropped down from his stool, caught in Dimitri’s strong and attentive arms. The demon stared eye-wide at his client and peered back at the astonished bartender who came out the back holding a black bottle.

The man smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “It seemed like I mixed my sleeping potion with the red wine. I...I am so sorry, good sir,” he stuttered.

“Ah, it is no trouble, dear friend. I think my...partner needed sleep anyway. Tomorrow we have big plans and he would need all the energy he can,” Dimitri reassured with an amiable smile.

“Shall I pack the food for you?”

“Just the bread—I’ll finish the cheese in our room.”

Without another word, the demon picked up the unconscious swordsman in his arms and went up the stairs. The room they got was up in the attic. The room turned out to be very small with a wide oak bed with dirty, bunched up sheets and pillow—stained with unknowable origins. In fact, the entire room smelled faintly of sweat and flesh.

Dimitri snapped his fingers at the bed, cleaning it to soft white almost immediately and tucked Felix under the covers; he supported the man’s feverish head against the softness of the pillows and, quietly, slipped back into the dark corners of the wall. The demon plopped himself down to finish his meal in silence, only stopping to peer off curiously at the sleeping man on the bed.

Once in a while, Felix turned in his slumber, trouble with a possessive dream. He muttered incoherently beneath his breath, a familiar name seeping back into the air once again for Dimitri’s attentive ears.

“...Glenn?”

_______________

The day greeted the pair not so amiably.

The main road to Hevring was still littered with violent vagabonds, bandits, and all types of human mongrels, which preyed so eagerly on any unfortunate souls that passed through. While Felix took this as ‘warm-up’ before his meeting with Caspar, taking down each and every challenger that blocked their path, the swordsman was still absolutely disgusted with the state of affairs he witnessed.

Things have truly descended to anarchy once the five disappeared, for they were the pillars of foundation for the Guild. Once they turned tail, the others, too, fled. Now, their absence was truly felt throughout the land, neglect clear in how red the sky bled from the distant ash and flame with a long-winded howl.

This especially became worse once they passed the border and descended deeper into the southern parts of Fódlan. There was an overturned caravan with the rotting corpses of horses collapsed half-way on the road, hacked brutally with swords across the purple-white flesh.

Felix and Dimitri later came their poor riders hung from a nearby tree—stripped nude and left for the maggots and summer heat. The swordsman averted his eyes with a hiss while the demon stared on with an unknown fascination. They later moved on and continued the path into the countryside.

“You see how everything went to shit? Absolute anarchy all around you. And no one has taken any responsibility,” Felix grumbled hotly under his breath as he trenched along. There was dried blood on his collar from an earlier fight where he sliced through a bandit’s neck, but there was so much conflict in the past few hours that Felix stopped trying to clean himself other than his blade.

Dimitri held his hand out and shielded his one eye from the scorching sun, panting a bit from the extreme heat, and regarded his partner considerably. “Was the guild really the only source of order in these lands? It seems a lot to manage.”

“The Six—Five Heavenly Kings were the Guild leaders and were the ones who organized everything from training to patrols. They set the standards to what was expected, single-handedly expelled the filth occupying Fódlan, and were practically worshiped as great champions...and now they’re all gone.”

“Why did they leave, Felix?”

He closed his eyes. “Because of the six. Come on, Dimitri. Let’s go rest by that shade—you’re looking a bit red.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fraldarius,” the demon offered kindly with burning cheeks from the heat. But he swiped the sweat from his forehead and shook his head. “But I must inform you that Caspar is nearby.”

Felix perked up and his eyes steeled like ice. “Where? Where is he?”

“It seemed like he’s...fighting in the fields far off,” Dimitri said with his eyes closed in deep concentration. When he opened them up, his single eye shined magnificently with excitement. He turned to a direction and gestured out over the stretching red plains where smoke emerged from a few ruined villages. “He’s down there.”

“Then that’s where we will go. Come Dimitri and witness my wrath,” Felix announced in a hollow voice, even sporting a bit of a grin before stalking off towards the bleeding horizon.

The demon nodded with his signature sharp, white smile, and hurried after the swordsman. They crossed over fields of burnt, smoking wheat; above, crows flew in a wild frenzy and escaped out into the sky, fleeing from both a place of destruction and the coming of death.

The village the pair came across was completely burnt down with just charred foundations and piles of ash littered around the grounds. Some houses collapsed on themselves with the roofs caved in, and there were pieces of black wood and stone scattered and stabbed into the ruined soil. The smell of sulfur was so strong in the air that Felix had to cover his noise as they proceeded through the ruins.

Closer to the main courtyard was when the bodies began to appear—corpses of bandits beaten to a pulp and slumped all around the houses or even hanging from the trees, as if thrown up from the midst of a violent tumble. Felix and Dimitri peered all around them and the demon bent down to inspect a nearby body.

“This one is warm,” he stated in a smooth voice. He looked over his shoulder and smiled with rapture, his eye flashing. “Your knight was just here. Perhaps he still is.”

Then came a quake. It was a small rumble, but one that nearly sent Felix down to the ground. He steadied himself against the pillar of the house, threw his head in the direction where the powerful motion had emerged from. He threw a glassy, humorless look to the demon and smiled mockingly.

“Speak of the devil.”

The swordsman took off in a mad flurry with his partner trailing behind him and the pair crossed over the threshold of overturned carriages and wooden stalls until they came across a putrid clearing. In the middle of the courtyard was a bloody visage of beaten bodies piled on top of each other and torn limbs.

Their blood seeped together into the small spaces of the cobblestone ground in red trails; destroyed pieces of metal armor and weapons laid all around the carnage and glistened crimson in the sun.

And standing right in the middle of the bloody grime and muck but shone like polished silver was a knight.

His armor jutted outward with heavy plates on all sides with a helmet which only allowed a few holes of vision. In the knight’s left hand, he held onto the red- brown locks of a dead bandit, whose white expression of horror stared back aimlessly at the newcomers before being dropped to the blood-soaked ground with a splat.

And for a moment, it seemed like the knight hardly noticed Felix or Dimitri; he peered all around him, at the results of his brutal victory with a visible sigh, shoulders sagging a bit with exhaustion.

However, the swordsman stepped forward, his foot splashing loudly a puddle forming from the bloodshed beneath him; the knight turned around with his fists raised only to pause, unresponsive. The two stared at each other from across the courtyard and finally came a low, terrified voice echoing from the helmet.

“N-No way...Glenn? Is that you?”

Felix lowered his body in a readying stance, hand at his hilt and eyes flaring like a predator in a hunt. But he did not move. His expression darkened at the mention of the name and he sneered whitey.

The knight tilted his head. “No...you’re not Glenn. Yes, I remember you—the squire, right? What in the world are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, Ser Bergliez.”

“Me? Did the Guild send you? Without a proper escort...” The knight raised his head towards Dimitri who smiled placidly and gave a lazy wave. “Either way, this is no place for someone like you. It’s dangerous! Head back, squire.”

“I beg to differ, Ser Bergliez. I fought and killed my way to reach you and I’m not leaving without a head.”

Caspar stumbled back in shock, his bloody gauntlets held up rather distressingly. “Whoa, whoa! Wait, you’re here to kill me? Why, buddy? What have I done to you?”

Felix’s eyes lowered until it was nothing but pure red slits. “I know what happened at Remire,” he said slowly, allowing each word to sink in properly with a seething spite.

Suddenly, the air around them became increasingly oppressive, smelling terribly of burnt flesh and neither of them could breathe. The knight did not move, not even shifting his gaze away at the accusation. Instead, a long and audible sigh hissed out from the dark holes of the man’s silver helmet like wind howling through pinholes in a whistle.

Perhaps it was the sudden drop of the blood sun that caused a sharp change in the knight’s demeanor. His body stiffened and bulged with taut strength as though someone was pulling on on two ends of a rubber band and kept pulling and pulling.

A cold blue eye shone out from the space of the helmet, radiating a paralyzing stare to his challenger. Their shadows stretched out, long and dark, over the bloody carnage beneath their feet.

Behind them, their audience; the devil sat perched on top of a fallen carriage, his head resting on his fist as he watched the two men with a flushed expression for excitement. He grinned, revealing the sharpness of his teeth as the wind blew the ends of his cloak up, almost resembling trails of shadow.

Caspar’s gauntlets gripped and he spoke in a hollow, distant voice. “Which one of us told you? Was it Petra? Holst?”

Felix shook his head. “The dead man speaks beyond his grave.”

“Impossible—someone must have betrayed us. But not that you would understand what had happened. You weren’t even there!”

“Don’t speak like you know me, Ser Bergliez. Do you even remember my name?”

The knight shook his head sympathetically. “I’m sorry, I guess I never took the time. But any of this hardly matters now—I refuse to die here to a mere squire. I’m sorry, little buddy, but you’ll have to go.”

Felix hunched over, legs tense and ready to burst out from under him. “You first.”

Above, a murder of crows circle the battlefield below with fluttering black feathers dancing down to the pools of blood. One of the birds gave a fearsome shriek that echoed across the plains and the two men took off towards one another.

The knight, in his radiant silver and steel, raised one gauntlet in the air and punched the ground beneath him. The cobblestone courtyard broke through in individual pieces with a great rumble, bodies thrown up and flung in different directions, as the ground roared in a violent quake.

Felix immediately jumped up to avoid the jutting parts of the open earth, his agile feet stepping on the flying pieces of rocks as he sped over to Caspar.

Like lightning, the knight stepped back and stomped on the ground so another great wall of earth shot up and blocked the swordsman’s way. Felix jumped down and rolled over, careful in avoiding the sharp pieces of stone raining down from the forced earthquake, but there was so much dirt, ash, and blood intermingled in the destruction that he could hardly see an inch in front of him.

A sharp arrow of stone was launched from the dust and nearly struck Felix’s hip; the swordsman flipped over, kicked it back, and heard it struck something hard on the other side. There was a low groan and Felix rushed forward, pulling out his sword and hacking at the dust-filled air. It bounced off a clear piece of armor with some yellow sparks and another piece of the earth caved in below him.

The swordsman quickly deflected more incoming missiles of rocks, cutting them in half and moving out and under the onslaught as he desperately searched for Caspar.

Suddenly, a dark figure emerged with a roar from the sandy veil and a shining silver hand shot through and grabbed Felix by the throat.

When the storm finally cleared, the swordsman found himself being lifted up to the blood meridian, choking and dangling with his feet kicking, as the knight stared on with a broken helmet—a single blue eye covered in blood from a cut gash near the eyebrow, gazing at him rather regrettably.

“You’re...surprising. A normal person should have been dead by now. The Guild clearly overlooked something,” the man huffed, clearly exhausted. His steel fingers tightened around the base of Felix’s throat and the swordsman squirmed wildly. “I really don’t feel good about ending such untapped talent, but you’re the one who started all this.”

“H-Hypocrite…,” Felix hissed through gritted teeth. He felt his vision darken as his breath haggard violently—his chest was pounding and his throat was closing up with every second, burning the skin red and harsh.

Above, the crows watched from the nearby tree for their feast of the losers, and Felix closed his eyes. And then he felt it from the throb of the pain—how his hand still loosely clung onto the hilt of his blade. Felix’s fingers searched for the strength to grip it properly and then he heard a sharp whistle.

“Hey, Ser Knight!” Dimitri called out like a beckoning maiden in the woods, and for a second, Caspar’s grip on Felix’s neck faltered.

That was all it took; Felix brought his arm up, an ice-blue sword shining against the fire-red of the sun setting in the distance, and stabbed it right into the Knight’s pure eye. Caspar gasped, but he did not scream nor howled when the sword came out the other end. His body merely went slack from the immediate shock and finally released Felix.

The swordsman collapsed against the blood soaked ground, hacking wildly with each breath restoring the warmth to his cheeks. He looked up with teary eyes and watched as the unresponsive knight swayed in the wind and finally collapsed on his back. Blood poured out in a small puddle where the sword was sticking out, and Felix crawled over to retrieve it.

A cold hand clasped over the swordsman’s quivering shoulders, but he did not turn around to see who it was. They merely stayed still, both watching the lifeless body of the knight, his wonderfully silver armor cracked and hacked and stained with dirt and blood.

A joyful, unexpected cawing of a crow shrieked from the barren tree overhead, announcing Felix’s victory, Caspar’s loss, and the coming of an evening feast as the sun set lowly with trails of lilac and crimson in the sky.

“He is dead,” Dimitri announced in a pleasant voice.

“He is dead,” Felix replied without feeling. He sniffed dryly and wiped his eyes clean. “One down. Four more to go.”

“You’re doing so good, Mr. Fraldarius. Very good indeed. It was unwise for that knight to underestimate you.”

“I-I’m used to it. It won’t be the last time this would happen.”

“Come, Mr. Fraldarius,” Dimitri beckoned sweetly. “Let’s get you off the ground. Take you to a clean, warm inn, hm? Now, now, take my hand.”

Felix allowed Dimitri to lift him up, but nearly collapsed back down again when the strength in his legs wither away to a mere husk. The demon picked up the fatigued man in his strong arms, ignoring how his entire back was soaked in fresh blood and dirt.

Dimitri took a brief moment to inspect him, his one blue eye squinting around Felix’s neck where a collar of purple finger marks had begun to emerge. Finally, he walked off back to the entrance of the village, allowing Felix to just lull his head over his shoulder and stare off at the body of Caspar left behind in the courtyard.

The crows had descended upon the carnage with a feverish hunger, already picking and fighting over the various bodies that were torn and flung in the heat of battle. The head crow landed right on top of Caspar’s helmet and began to pull at the exposed, red flesh of his stabbed eye.

Felix kept watching until the feast of crows was no more but a small dot in the distance—but he could still hear the sounds; beaks tearing at the soft wet skin and the choking gulp of hunger. He finally closed his eyes and turned away from the sight; above, Dimitri was regarding him warmly with a slight hint of curiosity.

And it unnerved him.

“What?” Felix asked.

“The knight, he did not recognize you. Are you two not friends in the Guild?” the demon asked pointedly with a patient smile.

“No, I...I wasn’t a part of their group. I was just a squire helping around—hardly even qualified as a warrior. That’s why.”

“A squire? But you fight on such equal standing,” Dimitri pointed out gently. “And the knight knew this ‘Glenn’ person. Almost seemed afraid of you until he realized your identity. Who is he?”

Felix closed his eyes and allowed his head to rest against Dimitri’s strong chest, listening to a hollow shell in place of a beating heart. It reminded him immediately of his servant’s true nature and he grimaced darkly.

“I suppose it does not matter if I tell you. I, too, shall be devoured soon,” the swordsman muttered. “Glenn was my older brother.”

Dimitri blinked. “Ah, that makes sense. So the knight knew him well—I suppose he was in their group?”

“Yes.”

“But why? Wouldn’t your brother be scornful that you’re killing his friends?” He asked without a hint of scolding. In fact, he was still smiling but stared straight ahead to the darkening horizon.

Felix shook his head. “No, not at all. He’s dead.”

“Ah.”

The countryside around them danced with shadowy silhouettes of distant civilizations jutting in the starry horizon, most untouched by the chaos of marauders and thieves. Any houses that were close to the main road were eerily dark with boarded up windows and torn-down fences—no signs of life anyway as black death passed through the ravished land.

The demon quietly took the edges of his midnight cloak and brought it over Felix’s small form, tucking him in and shielding the man from the incoming night wind that whistled through from the north.

“Look at you,” Dimitri muttered humorlessly. “You’re shivering cold. I suppose it was quite a close battle for the knight was an extremely formidable foe. I have only heard tales of his superhuman strength.”

“Caspar’s always been strong, always been one to dive head first into any battle. That was who he was—a big dumb muscle. There were many at the Guild who were inspired by his foolish courage.”

“Like you?”

Felix’s eyes searched the dark skies, tracing over each white star that twinkled overhead. Something dark and murky flooded his stomach and the man suddenly felt incredibly ill—urging himself to throw up. Instead, he swallowed down the foul thing and suppressed it deep within and shook his head to dismiss all thoughts.

“He’s dead now. It doesn’t matter,” He growled lowly.

Dimitri hummed. “But he was still something to you, hm? And I’m sure every other person you seek is in one way or another. Your sword arm is mended and our contract is sealed but your desire is...difficult, even among most of my past clientele.”

“The hand on my sword is not heavy. My heart is not burdened. They will all fall and that will be my tribute.”

“Tribute to who?”

When Felix did not reply, merely turning his head and closing his eyes to close all discussion on the matter, Dimitri sighed with a soft smile.

“You must be tired, Mr. Fraldarius. No more speak—I’ll get us a room for the night and we can search for the second warrior promptly,” the demon said like a mother urging her child to bed. His arms curled up, bringing the weakened swordsman closer against his chest in a comfortable cradle.

The night washed over the man in a black sea with stars meandering around the glowing, full moon. The owls and crickets began to sing from the towering, endless forests and the winds blew over the fields of black and blue.

The main road was still littered in Felix’s earlier battles though occupied by hungry mongrels, tearing skin from the skulls. The demon hummed a lullaby and stopped when he felt Felix’s cold fingers touch his throat in a strange attempt to catch his attention.

“Dimitri.”

“Hm? Do you need anything, Mr. Fraldarius?”

The hand lowered back down to the shivering body and a head closed off in a near sleep. “Y-You can call me, Felix.”

“F-e-l-i-x,” the demon pronounced slowly—deliberately, off the tongue. “What a beautiful name…”

Dimitri looked down to smile at the man, but found that he had already slipped into a deep, noiseless slumber, unable to notice the intense stare of his demonic contractor. For the first time, Dimitri experienced a strange, pulsing sensation from within and stopped right in the middle of the road to catch his breath.

He endured himself in case the sickly feeling returned and sighed out in relief when all but usual emptiness remained. Without another thought, the demon tucked the sleeping man under his cloak, peered up to the midnight sky, and disappeared in a faint mist.

One dead and left behind for the crows; four more to go.

  
  


**| | Petra of Brigid | |**

Felix awoke to the sensations of being rocked back and forth gently, like a sweet mother’s cradle. He groaned and rubbed the morning grime from his eyes, sitting up to an exceptionally warm bed and an even warmer air, pleasant with the smell of sea salt and the sounds of oceanic birds.

It did not dawn on him right there on how the sun shone brightly on his face, brighter than the sun back at southern Fódlan and especially in the north. The warmth was unknown to him and he automatically shifted his body to the cooler side of the bed.

When Felix opened his eyes, he looked upon a small, unknown room—an inn, perhaps? Sitting in the dim corner on a chair much too big for his body was Dimitri. The demon was occupied with staring at a book, legs hiked over each other as he bit into a small block of cheese.

The first thing Felix noticed was that Dimitri no longer wore his shadowy long cloak but draped over his body a loose, open buttoned white shirt—his full chest exposed with a bit of stomach muscle. Felix practically choked on the warm air and the demon lifted his head up; he immediately smiled glowingly and stood up, revealing that his golden hair was tied back into a small pony tail—the blue of his single eye, the white of his sharp teeth.

“Good morning, Mr. Fral—Felix!” Dimitri greeted in a sing-song like voice.

“You got tired of your old clothes, Dimitri?” Felix said warily and sat up fully on the bed with his legs crossed. “Not that I’m complaining. Whatever you choose to wear is your prerogative, but don’t you think you’ll feel exposed when we go search for Petra?”

“Oh, my beloved warrior, it’s simply appropriate for the weather.”

Felix arched a brow. “Excuse me?”

When Dimitri gestured to the open window, Felix peered outside and his red eyes widened in absolute, soundless shock. What was meant to be an inn was actually a boat careening gently among the crystal blue waves; white birds flying overhead and diving in, emerging back out with thrashing fish; the glowing sun greeted the swordsman petrified face with harsh ray; the distance no longer held dark cities and smoke but islands with jungles and other boats out on the water.

Felix sat back on the bed, stared out at the far back wall where it was decorated in small sea shells and drawings of ivory beaches. Slowly, he turned to the demon who was standing over him with a small, shy smile.

“Where...are we going?” The swordsman asked hoarsely.

The demon tilted his head, blue eye glowing. “Brigid.”

“Excuse me?!” Felix choked and stood up from the bed, only to stumble awkwardly from the boat rocking on a particularly violent wave. He stepped forward and Dimitri caught him in his arms, hugging the swordsman against his breast with a bit of a mischievous, toothy-smile.

“Why are we going to Brigid?!” He managed to huff, ignoring how taut the demon’s body was against his.

“I sensed that the one called Petra was heading here so I saved us the trouble and hired a ferryman that will take us across the ocean,” Dimitri explained lightly.

“And you didn’t think of telling me first?!”

“Oh, but Felix, you were so tired from your fight with Caspar. All you told me to do was to locate Petra and then you fainted at the inn. Haven’t I done you the proper work?”

“Yes, but—” Felix stopped himself midway and then sighed loudly, pressing his hand against his forehead in exasperation. “Never mind. At least we’ll already be at Brigid. Only part is, I’m not sure how I’ll survive the heat or humidity. Not to mention all the jungles here.”

“I’m sure we will find some light clothes for you,” Dimitri teased with a laugh and pulled away. He gestured for Felix to take the book from his hand, which turned out to be a personal culture guide to Brigid for any visitors from Fódlan. “In the meantime, you should get equipped on some knowledge of this land. We do have a few hours before Brigid.”

“Why? All I want to seek out the assassin and be done with international travel,” Felix said.

Dimitri’s grin faltered to something akin to disappointment and the demon shook his head dismissively. “It’s not so easy, Felix. We are strangers to this land, outsiders to their customs and laws. We have no right to just arrive and set about destroying the place like we own in, no less, to hunt down and murder their own. We must understand this country first and obtain a sense of neutrality. Just seek out Petra and challenge her to a duel.”

Felix stared at the heavy novel in his head and breathed out to his nose. “I’ll be dead soon anyway. And you’re a fucking other world entity. What good does this do in the end?”

“It’s simple courteous,” the demon offered with a shrug. “Considering how Fódlan is now, I’m sure I would not like to add to their troubles by provoking another country, would you?”

The swordsman did not say a word, merely staring red daggers at his bemused servant. Finally, he plopped himself back down on the bed and turned to a random page in the book, muttering dark obscenities beneath his breath. The mood hardly soured at this, however, and Dimitri went towards the closet with a low chuckle. Outside, the birds called out and the sound of sea splashing eccentrically against the side of the boat let in a few droplets of water on the bed.

“Are there any clothes I could wear that won’t sweat me out in the jungle?” Felix asked muffled in the fist of his hand, his eyes still staining the heavy text of the book.

Dimitri hummed. “I think I could pick out a proper outfit for you,” he replied.

“It better be practical—not that whorish thing you’re wearing.”

“Whorish?” The demon touched the open collar of his white shirt and peered over to Felix with a genuine quizzical look. “It’s...a sailor’s undershirt.”

Felix grumbled and brought the book up to his face to shield his expression. All the swordsman could hear was that infatuating—infuriating laugh, the one that kept ringing in his ear back in Fódlan.

Demons were all laughs and smiles, right up to where they physically tour the soul out of the human body and Felix did his best to remind himself of that terrible, bitter end. While the air around them was pleasant if not a bit carefree, Felix understood his sense of time: Caspar was killed not too long ago. They were on their way to Brigid and then possibly more places beyond.

Once he fulfilled his bargain, the smiling facade of the blonde-haired demon would come to collect his debt. He always collected his debt and did not hesitate in reminding Felix either. Trickery or faith won’t save the swordsman—a lesson from his nighttime storybooks of youth. In the end, this was all but an illusion meant to ease a professional relationship and that was the scariest thought of all.

A bit of sedative to a dying man—no sense and all feeling.

Outside, the boat rocked downward on Felix’s side and some sea water splashed onto his long, dark hair. The man groaned audibly as Dimitri burst out into a fit of euphoric laughter. One that carried out from their room and across the sea.

_______________

The second person on Felix’s list was Petra Macneary of Brigid, a foreign assassin from the islands who was said to be as fast as the wind itself. She also had supreme mastery over beasts and often quelled the troubled region of Fódlan of its wandering monster problem.

Petra, while struggling to fully adapt to Fódlan’s drastically different traditions, speech, and religion, was still absolutely a kind soul, earnest to learn and listen from the people around her. However, this hardly deter the lethal, swift danger she presented on the battlefield with her enemies never being able to spot her until it was too late—as though the wind itself had executed them. And if it wasn’t Petra herself, it was the beasts that followed their master so feverishly.

Now, she has returned to her native land and Felix understood quite keenly the difficulty of challenge the assassin on her turf; he knew not of the terrain, the creatures, or even what kinds of warriors he’ll encounter here. Only that he was a foreigner and it would be best to stay low and neutral until he could find her.

The only problem, which Felix and Dimitri found out rather quickly and painfully, was that Brigid was overwhelmingly humid. There was a stark difference between the hot plains of southern Fódlan, which was merely dry and scorching, to the incredibly sleek sweltering wetness of Brigid.

While the white crystal beaches was a pleasant sight, the duo was struck with the awful reality of this country’s jungles—gigantic, festering biomes filled with unknown fauna which spread out and upward into the canopy in an explosion of tropical colors—some which moved and twitched with life—strange beasts, which climbed all over the tree tops and watched the two travelers with a sense of curiosity and caution. And above all, the sticky heat made the skin wet and their light clothes stick was enough for Felix to bemoan loudly—wishing he could have trained himself to endure the heat earlier on.

Dimitri, on the other hand, despite being a demon who could fly, heal limbs on a whim, and all sorts of dark, unnatural magic, was not doing any better. In fact, Felix could argue that his companion was doing worse as the demon often had to stop and summon some water to splash on him; the swordsman ignored how utterly soaked their clothes were, how Dimitri’s sweat beaded at the small spaces between his breasts and abs, and went on sullenly.

The locals of Brigid were no strangers to having travelers from Fódlan considering travel between the two countries, and they were cordial and polite, if not, a bit distant. Many of the merchants and hunters crossing the jungle pointed the duo in the direction of nearby settlements to take rest at, even sharing a bit of food for the journey ahead.

“The people here are very welcoming, though they are rather cautious with us,” Dimitri observed coolly as they took rest in the cool shade by a passing stream.

“I don’t blame them. You saw how shitty Fódlan is right now. In fact, you’re much older than me and probably seen the worst of it,” Felix huffed against a tree trunk. Throughout their hike, he slipped a few times on a wet spot in the soil and nearly got caught in a set of vines dangling above the pathway. In short, he was utterly exhausted, terribly hot, and was in no mood for humor—though that was the usual for him.

“I would not make it so exclusive to Fódlan. Your kind has always befallen on troubled times for it is basic nature—greed, ambition...rage,” Dimitri said wistfully, the last word came out in a bit of a prolonged utterance with the demon eyeing Felix closely. “Maybe it’s just more prevalent now considering how the law keepers have all but abandoned their duties.”

“And what does that make you, Dimitri? The infamous Bastard of the Tailtean Plains?”

The demon’s white smile slit across his face like a refined blade—knowing and dangerous, and he chuckled darkly. “An indulger, my dear client. A tempter, an instigator, a wish-maker. I merely give the tools for those who approach me to make their ambitions real. Are you blaming me for what ends up happening in the end? It is no fault of mine.”

Felix’s eyes narrowed to thin slits. “But you feed on souls of vice, people who make pacts with you are all stupid, crazed fools…” the swordsman lowered his head and stared at his hands. “Including myself.”

“It’s only coincidental that my clients indulge in their more savage natures. I dealt with holy women and mothers before too,” Dimitri explained, his tone dropping to an eerie, venomous scorn. The demon’s face suddenly darkened until the shadows that passed over him blackened completely, only leaving a single blue eye, glaring directly at Felix. “My diet is the soul so I must eat. Would that still make me ‘evil’ in the eyes of your kind? Hm?”

“All prey fear the predators,” Felix simply replied with a straight face, hoping it would betray the swirling panic that frantically bellowed at the pit of his stomach.

A minute between the two, an understanding between both their contract and their respective natures; the borrower and the loaner; the debt and the collector; the human and the temptation. Felix no longer felt fear but a strange and embittered resignation that made him suddenly sad and lonely. Dimitri merely hummed in agreement and all malevolence tied away to a rare, weary look. He still grinned foolishly, but more so like an overworked mother. He wiped the sweat from his brow and turned to face the rest of the jungle, which rustled nervously from the demon’s attention.

“Petra is still so far from here—in the jungle of the eastern parts of Brigid. It will take a few days to cross the country, especially in this climate. While I cannot die, you should do well to take care of yourself, Felix.”

“I know,” the swordsman muttered as his shirt clung eagerly on the sweat of his back. It pulled up a bit when he hunched over, and he hissed from the sensation. “If Petra doesn’t end me or her beasts, then this detestable heat.”

“Is there anyone on your list who is from Northern Fódlan?” Dimitri asked hopefully.

“None. The Six Heavenly Kings were mostly from sunny parts of the world. I think the only one who came from the north was…” Felix stopped abruptly as if a man possessed. He fell into a long and comatose silence, and stared out to the jungle, listening to the noises of animals screeching at the canopy or the shiver of the foliage from nearby travelers.

Without another word, Felix stood up mechanically and gestured for Dimitri to follow. The demon shot up nervously and trailed closely after the swordsman as he walked back to the jungle path and deeper onward towards the cities. The disquieting nature that passed over Felix made him contemplative and strictly impatient; Petra was just in the horizon and the swordsman could hardly wait for his blade to taste blood—bring a second warrior down and offer as a tribute to one who was not here anymore.

Dimitri sensed this growing, troubled mania in the man but said nothing to it.

Eventually, the pair stumbled across a small city, nestled on an international port of the beach with cargo ships wading on the crystal waters of the island. By the time they reached the gates, the sun had slipped into the ocean and the moon hovered closely to the sea, glimmering white as the waves pulled back harshly and flooded upward suddenly in a surge. The sky was black and full of stars, tiny little dots decorating the sea and danced with the small currents and riptides.

There were small lights floating further off on the ocean—fishermen who took their small boats out at night and sailed off in search for food. Their lanterns bobbled gently on the waves and Felix watched the fading lights quietly from their small room at the boarding house. After a minute of listening to the quiet sloshing of the ocean, the swordsman slowly stood up and went off to join his companion at the bathhouse.

Dimitri was terribly insistent on Felix relaxing at Brigid’s many famous saunas and natural springs, citing that the book claimed these were especially useful for mending the weary and broken bodies of warriors. The demon, though, just came off as an eager tourist compared to the swordsmen, but Felix hardly had the energy to rebuke Dimitri’s advances.

He just wanted to sleep for the night and find Petra in the next few days. He was not here for recreation or exploration and yet—

Felix slipped down into the mineral waters of the bathhouse and fell into a gradual, warm-blooded sigh nearing unconsciousness; his tight limbs went slack with a cooling relief and his mind blanked itself of all darkening thoughts. The man became so far gone in the waters that he hardly gave notice to the light, amused chuckle of his companion on the other side of the small pool.

Dimitri watched Felix intensely, his single blue eye glowing with an unknown feeling, but he smiled without intent and waded his fingers playfully through the steamy water. The bathhouse hosts had graciously pushed out little floating trays of food and alcohol to the duo’s section, and the demon even felt brave to indulge himself in a bit of drinking.

“You seem happy,” Felix muttered with his eyes closed. His long hair spilled into the water like a dropped bottle of black ink and he sunk lower into the pool, allowing the swirling waters to slip up against his neck and head.

The demon giggled like a drunk with his flushed cheeks. “I must admit, I have dealt with your kind for centuries but the one thing I must respect and admire is your recreation. This feels absolutely amazing.”

“There were baths and saunas at the Guild as well. Glenn and I used to sit in them for hours after training. At first, I could not bear the heat—not even for a minute. But after a while, the feeling became pleasant and I could manage for at least an hour. Plus, the water was always good for the bruises I got during Glenn’s tough session.”

“Your brother trained you? Explains why you were so strong despite your position. How strong was he, exactly?”

“The strongest. No one could touch him. Not even the other Kings.” He paused and breathed in the spicy steam that veiled around his body; it repelled the oppression in his head and he felt much calmer, even more talkative. “And then Remire happened.”

“Remire the village? Wasn’t it destroyed by a bandit attack a year ago?” Dimitri uttered softly.

“Yes, but something else occurred that day.” Felix lifted his head and opened his eyes, revealing the dark rings beneath the red eyes or how absent his gaze was—looking onward to a far away and terrible dream.

Dimitri stopped drinking and placed his cup down on the tray; he leaned back against the wall and stared at Felix with an unwavering gaze and a solemn frown. The demon, despite his elusive personality, was—as Felix understood—incredibly attentive to every word and speech he had uttered so far. Even the tiniest remark received some type of close reception and the swordsman wondered if it was a simply a natural instinct in their partnership or the demon’s own philosophy. Whatever the case may be, Felix leaned his entire back against the edge and stared up at the ceiling.

“There was a report that came from our scouts about how a powerful bandit lord named Kostas had intercepted the village of Remire. The guild did not want to take chances and sent all six of the kings down there as this particular lord was responsible for much of the chaos around Fódlan. He already slipped through our fingers once. I suppose the Guild wanted to cut the head sooner than later…”

Dimitri nodded slowly and Felix continued softly. “The six of them set out by dawn. Five returned by dusk. The village of Remire was said to have been completely destroyed, razed from the ground up with Kostas and his men dead. The five told the Guild that Glenn fell to Kostas in battle and they all believed it...but I know what happened. I saw it.”

Felix watched as a tray floated over to him. In a fit of short rage, the man snatched the entire jar of spiced wine and downed it directly, ignoring how his throat burned intensely or how Dimitri waded across the pool out of an instinctual concern, sitting right next to him on his side. The man tore the jar from his lips, sighing loudly with a sway before passing the near-empty wine to the demon to finish. His red eyes glazed over in heat and he gave a low snicker.

“Glenn...he forgot his satchel that day so I thought I could ride out and meet the party before Remire. But...I was late. When I got to the village, it was already burning—the bandits were dead and Kosta was dragged out and thrown onto a pile with his men...but then I saw my brother. He was surrounded by people who were meant to be his brother-in-arms...slaughtered like a common dog. I heard their words of betrayal, confessions of murder!” Felix hissed wildly through half-choking fits of laughter, so much so, that it even unnerved the demon sitting next to him. “I did not remember what happened, only that I confronted one of them when she stayed behind...and she crippled my arm and left me to die with my brother.”

“And that’s how you found your way to me. Such a sad, scornful affair,” Dimitri muttered without a hint of malice.

In fact, he sounded incredibly sympathetic, though Felix simply dismissed all notion —as if such a creature could feel any regard for humans. And yet, the words alone nearly sent him over the edge and he turned away to shield his broken expression.

“Do you know why they killed Glenn?” Dimitri asked carefully.

“They said that ‘he got in the way’ and it was ‘necessary’. Whatever that means.” Felix grumbled slowly and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. They have to die. They all have to die. And once they go, you can have me, body and soul.”

“Your resignation is refreshing, Felix, but you shouldn’t push yourself too much. We will find them, even if it takes us years. But I worry all this rushing is slowly killing you. The dead can wait, can’t they?”

“Isn’t it literally your job to keep me alive?”

“Yes, but you’re absolutely miserable in running around all ends of the world just to seek revenge. It’s such a terrible way to go about things…”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t dealt with this type of wish before! How many of your past clientele wanted someone dead?” Felix snarled harshly.

“Many. They sought power to oppress others and destroy the ones who wronged them,” Dimitri explained slowly with a frown. He closed his eyes and breathed in the steam. “But your request is different. You want revenge without much influence on my part. All I did for you was fix your arm and act as a navigational guide. You’re clearly not a character who seeks absolute power and domination, just personal justice by your own hand...it just feels different, Felix. Especially after you killed the knight. Even you felt it. If you want me to grant you superhuman strength and speed, I would. In a heartbeat. Then I wouldn’t feel so conflicted.”

The swordsman almost laughed at the demon’s confession, but stiffened it into the palm of his hand. Instead, he scoffed openly and threw his head away so he would not have to continue staring at the demon. The room around them swirled with hot, boiling tension and Felix ran and caught it by its tail.

“Why do you concern yourself in such useless thoughts, demon?” he finally hissed out harshly, tongue lashing with spite. “You should be so glad that I'm in a hurry to close our deal. You’ll get to eat, of course, this sinister and disgusting soul of mine! What’s your problem in the way I go about things?”

“I…” Dimitri suddenly paled, taken back by a rare and open fear stricken terribly on his handsome face. A loss of words, a mouth open soundlessly before being shut tight into a thin line. Then came the coldness, one felt even in the warm room; it made the skin shiver with fright and the heart pulsed slowly with death.

Even time itself seemed to halt, petrified, and Felix could not drag his eyes away from Dimitri as he stood up—six foot two inches of wet, hulking muscle leering hungrily over the man with his blue eye darkened immensely with a chilly, piercing regard. A white half crescent moon smile slit across the creature’s shadow face, sharp at the corners like the tip of a knife.

“You’re right. How could I have forgotten? Once this is all over, you are mine. I will collect my debt once the last name falls and satisfy my lust—I thank you for reminding me of our bound contract, my beloved client.” A foreign, alien voice of another tongue hissed out slowly like steam spilling out of a tiny crevice.

Felix’s heart beat faintly against his chest but his mind was churning quickly with a violent storm. He kept his groggy eyes open to Dimitri—his large, muscular body wading like a sharply erupted glacier in the water, all edges and facades glistening white. The swordsman swallowed his breath, trying to find the exact words he wanted to say, but all that came out was the rebuttal of an equally harsh gaze.

After a moment, the demon gave a low, thundering cackle and slipped back into the water. A sudden surge of steam clouded Felix’s sight and he held his hands up to shield his eyes. When the steam parted and the room cleared, Dimitri disappeared and it was just the swordsman alone in the hot water.

Both jars of spiced wine were gone.

_______________

In the morning, Dimitri had reverted back to his earlier cordial nature like how Felix first met him that fateful night in the Tailtean Plains; polite, cool, and falsely encouraging. He gave a slight, show-offish bow to the swordsman with a controlled smile on his handsome face. When they began their track further into the deep jungles of Brigid, Dimitri trailed a bit further behind, leaving Felix alone to leave.

It was like day one. For some reason which Felix did not want to think about, he was bizarrely overtaken by the change in the demon’s behavior and wondered curiously if Dimitri really had been offended by his words last night. Perhaps the swordsman was unfairly prejudiced and the demon was quite possibly been hurt by such disregard.

But in the end, Felix forced away such stupid thoughts, remembering that Dimitri was only doing so much in the first place for his soul—there was no need to complicate their professional relationship, which was set up intentional to end and part.

The pair eventually stumbled out of the thick jungle and out onto another ivory coast, with sparkling sand and gray rocks jutting out towards the eastern horizon. There were abandoned fishing ports and half boats washed up on shore and some nets still thrown over some leaning, torn poles stuck in the crystal blue water.

All over the sand where the tide just barely reached the upper part of the beach was a large set of clawed footprints, spreading out until they suddenly disappeared—taken off in a blur.

“Mr. Fraldarius,” Dimitri called out, reverting back to his earlier conduct to Felix. The cool formality practically took the swordsman off guard but he did not allow this to show upon his face when he turned around. “The one called Petra is near.”

“How near?”

“She is…” Dimitri stopped and held up a hand, turning towards the ocean. “Wait.”

“What?”

Before the demon could say more, the waves suddenly crashed malevolently on the shoreline—beating against the cliff sides in a white-blue flurry. The water then slipped back as if sucked in by an unknown force, forming a giant whirl pool swirled like a hurricane Wind rushed forward in a vicious, inescapable storm—even the bright blue skies and white cloud darkened black and gray in response.

Felix covered his eyes from the torrents of rain that shot down violently and felt Dimitri’s strong hands on his shoulders; the demon kept the swordsman pinned to the ground as there came a great and mighty roar and then an explosion with water splashing all over the beach. 

When the surge finally cleared, the duo opened their eyes, turned around, and peered into a gigantic eye of a blue leviathan towering in from the depths of the water. It’s black pupil dilated at the sight of the strangers and it threw its head in a mighty roar, which shook the land itself in a rumble.

“Here we go,” Dimitri sighed as Felix pulled out his sword, already hunched over for battle. The serpent leered over the duo, a purple liquid leaking from its large, sharp fangs in a constant drip into the ocean with a visible hiss.

There was a single moment of amnesty between the two sides, but only briefly; the creature pulled it’s head back to strike and Felix positioned his sword next to his head; Dimitri stood close behind him and even the demon himself seemed more keen on joining the fight than sticking to his promised neutrality. Their eyes met each other in challenge and then—

A sharp, bird-like whistle; a foreign cry.

The Leviathan stopped and leered its giant head with a shaky gaze towards the entrance of the jungle. There, a figure emerged from its depths; a semi-muscular woman with long, purple hair in a braided ponytail, armed with the face of a fierce warrior—a red mark right under her eye as proof. She whistled once again between her fingers and the creature lingered a bit, hesitant, before slowly slinking back into the ocean in a slow, reluctant descent.

A mother banishing a reluctant child to their slumber.

When Felix and Dimitri turned around to greet her, the swordsman paused half-way with an open mouth, dropped in shock. The woman, too, stopped her walk and gawked at him with a slight tilt of her head. Neither of them said a word and finally, she broke the silence in a small, hesitant voice.

“The younger brother of...Glenn?” The woman asked.

Felix swallowed and let his arm fall down to his side. But the sword remained outside of its sheath, shining blue like an icicle. “Yeah, that’s right, Petra.” he replied back.

“Oh my, it is you! Felix, was your name? What are you doing here in Brigid? It is not Fódlan.” A small smile gazed over Petra’s face and her warm eyes riveted to Dimitri. “And you brought a friend here! Is this a vacation?”

“Not a vacation. No, I’m actually here...for you.”

She blinked rapidly. “Me? Did you come to pay me visitation? That is very kind of you!”

“Well, I—“

“It has been a very long time since I have seen anyone in the Guild! I miss everyone! Have you met with Caspar? How is he?”

“No, you see—“

“And of you? Did you stop being a squire? You have always trained very hard.”

“Petra—“

“We must return to Fódlan after this. I would very much like to see all our friends—“

“I am here to kill you, Petra,” Felix announced quickly, his frantic words stopping the warrior right in her cheerful rambling. He kept his sharpened expression tight, even as poison filled his heart and lurched upward painfully from how the woman’s happy face gradually fell to a pained realization. She touched her chest and backed away.

“Why, Felix? You seek conflict?”

He nodded firmly. “I do. For what you and the others have done in Remire.”

Petra’s eyes glistened like gems in the sun but she did not move. Instead she stood very straightly and lowered her head at the mention of the infamous village, a regretful expression emerging so openly that even Dimitri understood that it was simply resignation.

“I knew that this would happen. That our evil would seek us. We should have never done a terrible conflict at Remire. So many dead,” she said quietly.

“Glenn died. Do you remember him?” Felix asked in a tight voice, trying not to shout or break in front of her. However, his hands shook violently with repressed terror.

Petra nodded very slowly. “Glenn was very good. He was better than all of us. Every night I can still hear...he tried to stop us and we have committed an act of betrayal.”

“What do you mean that he tried to stop you?” Dimitri asked, breaking his promised silence in exchange for a tone of utter interest. Felix glared at him but the demon pressed on with a steadfast gaze.

“We were in search of Kostas. He hid in the village. I...I still do not understand what had happened. Cassandra and Holst have believed that the villagers were helping him but I do not understand why. Everyone kept yelling at each other.” The woman shook her head and clasped her hands over her heart. “I could not listen fast enough. The language was too much. Glenn got very angry and Holst...Oh, Felix, I am very sorry.”

“No...no apologies,” the swordsman hissed and went back into a tense stance, blade raised next to his head—aimed right at the assassin. “Glenn is dead. Remire is gone. And you remain. And so you must die.”

“No, Felix. I do not want conflict with you,” Petra said firmly, even as her voice broke into a shaky sob. Her hands were kept firmly at her side, not once reaching to the sharp dual blades strapped on either side of her hip. She stared Felix down and shook her head once again. “No, it does not have to be this way.”

“Yes. It does. Take out your weapon, Petra.”

“No, Felix.”

“I said take it out!” The swordsman commanded in a vicious shout and dashed forward, sand kicking up from the flurry of heels.

He came up closely to the stationary woman, raising his blade above his head and bringing it down in a half-moon slash right to the ground. He had anticipated the harsh connection from steel to the skin, and the explosion of blood. Except, the only thing his blade hacked through was pure air and it struck the sand with a soft thud.

The wind blew all around him in a mad flurry and there was a brief flash of color behind him; Felix slashed in the opposite direction, barely missing Petra’s ponytail as she ducked down low and disappeared in a quick blur. The swordsman was left twirling around in search of the assassin, only to catch that she had flipped herself over to the edge of the shore.

Petra stood right in the water and stared back at Felix sadly. “You strike with intent to kill, Felix, You really want conflict with me, then,” she bemoaned softly.

The swordsman huffed out harshly as a sliver of black hair fell between his narrowed eyes. He wiped the sweat from his brow and stretched out into another stance.

“Yes, I do. And this will not end unless one of us is dead.”

“That...is very sad, Felix. I do not want conflict with Glenn’s younger brother. But I understand your anger. You want to avenge him.” Petra stood very still, head still lowered in a great shame. Finally, after a minute, the assassin raised her head—something sharp glint in her pupils, and her swords came out from both hands in a deadly sheen. “Yes, I will fight you. I do not wish to die even though I deserve death. Come at me, younger brother!”

Felix gave no weight. He went forward with his blade raised once again and Petra jumped back and gave a lone whistle. There was a rumble erupting from the depths of the crystal water and the swordsman briefly broke his line of sight to meet with Dimitri at the sidelines; the demon was standing close to the shade, watching the battle with an unreadable, white expression. When he locked eyes with Felix, the swordsman gave a shout.

“Dimitri, take care of the beast! My battle is with her!”

Without a second thought, the demon vanished into thin air like smoke. Felix blinked and then brought his attention over to Petra who suddenly challenged him head by launching herself in the air—dual blades shining of death in the Brigid sun and she twirled and dove down. The swordsman quickly flipped over, feet planted back and he held up his blade to deflect her.

A clash between metal; a single slowed second between the combatants—Felix keeping himself still on the ground as Petra was still in the air as their swords sparked from the contact; the kind assassin no longer bore any rejection of violence and wore a mask of utter, cold death. Her pupils widened and then a flash—she swept upward once again and disappeared with the wind.

In the ocean, the gigantic leviathan had given a wild shriek and thrashed around, sending waves crashing on shore. There were quick, blue lights flashing all around it with motions too quick for the naked eye.

Suddenly, blood spilled out of its neck and mouth, pouring like a waterfall into the beautiful waters of the country. The serpent whined and called out desperately, and in the corner of Felix’s eye, he saw a dark figure standing right on top of its head, holding a glowing lance.

Meanwhile, Petra had appeared once again on the other side of the beach. She pumped herself into a frenzy, blades flipping around her hands in preparation for a personal gutting. The woman locked eyes with Felix who stopped on the other side. They stopped. They waited. They watched. And then, both heels took off, crystal pieces of sand in flight.

Felix saw the blur of her purple hair racing towards him, saw the shine of her blades vibrating in the wind in a song of death. She was faster than him, she would reach him first, and her steel would slip through against his neck like butter. He understood this when he saw the wind trailing behind her.

And as Petra reached the swordsman, her feet leaving the sand and flying upward like a bird, Felix took a half second to stare. And another half second to shift the grip of his sword and point it up as he dove straight under.

Petra’s warm eyes widened. The leviathan screamed its last, choking breath. The swordsman slipped out on the other end and brought his sword back over his eyes for inspection. Blood all across the side.

There was a thud. And the ocean waves quieted.

Felix closed his eyes and breathed in counted intervals of three. The man’s hand was shaking at the sweaty grip of his sword as it threatened to slip out of him. Water and blood dripped down from his face in hot trails and some wet touched his eyes. Finally, a larger, stronger hand reached out under his arm and gently clasped over his shivering hand—forcing his fingers to coil back around the hilt tightly.

A gentle, hot whisper to his ear with some loving encouragement.

“Don’t let your sword hand get heavy, Mr. Fraldarius. You must go greet the dying—it is your responsibility after all.”

Felix nodded frantically. “Y-Yes...you’re very right, Dimitri. I will go see Petra one last time.”

But his body did not move. He did not find any energy to move. His own limbs had betrayed him and he stayed stuck in spot, unable to turn around and greet his duty. Instead, Dimitri hummed lightly and gently urged the man up on his feet. Together, they turned around and Felix finally raised his wet eyes out to the beach.

Petra was on her back. Her hair had come loose in the middle of battle and laid out against the red sand. Both of her blades were thrown out and stuck deeply into the shore. And the woman’s entire body was coated in a bright red slick, ebbing from her neatly cut stomach from her belly button to the top.

When Felix stumbled over, the woman’s eyelashes fluttered weakly like the take-off of a butterfly and she managed to greet the man. They stared at each other, Felix with all rage and vengeance gone in place of throbbing weariness, and Petra with a slipping gaze. Finally, a half-sob choked out of her, spilling blood from the lips, and tears threatened to break away.

“I...I am sorry, Felix. I did not want to hurt Glenn or Remire...I just w-wanted to be helpful,” the woman gasped weakly.

The swordsman bent down, his knee touching the wet, red sand around them. He searched desperately for more rage to exact, more anger to strike down upon her. But instead, there was only a stark emptiness and a small, lonely voice that echoed somewhere far within. A call for no one except for him, from a place too far away and distant for him to ever reach.

“I know...I know, Petra,” he whispered and then touched her arm. Her cold, cold arm. “Petra...I wanted to—”

When he looked up, the assassin was staring back at him with open, white eyes and a bloody smile—unmoving, silent, white. The humid wind blew the purple locks away from her face and there traveled the keen aroma of passing. Of death.

The bile at the back of Felix's throat finally gave away and he held his throat as he threw up away from her body. Hot, blurry tears trailed down hotly from his eyes and a child’s sob erupted from the man’s lungs—begging, desperate, and lonely; he cried out loudly and coughed up more onto the sand. Above, a hand touched his shaking shoulder and a cold voice greeted him.

“Oh, my beloved client. Were you trying to forgive her? Seek some way to lessen her death? You realize that such a thing is impossible. This is your choice. You cannot seek sympathy for your actions now,” Dimitri cooed in a sickly, sweet voice.

He bent down right next to the sickly man, rubbing circles into Felix’s sweaty back. The demon’s expression was amiable and pleasant, but the stark whiteness of his own skin betrayed how he felt.

Instead, Dimitri smiled with enamor and drew closer intimately until his face was inches away from Felix’s. “Petra is dead—you gutted her like a fish. That sweet, sweet woman who held so much regret in her heart would rot here on the beach she loved. But that was your choice. That was all you. And now, you must keep going, Mr. Fraldarius. You can’t stop now! For Glenn. For our contract. For your sinister, disgusting soul.”

Felix sobbed out into his bloody fist and turned to shoot his companion a tortured, teary-eyed look. “Why are you so cruel?” He croaked loudly as the demon ran his strong, killing hands down the swordsman’s back and arm in loving comfort like a reassuring mother.

Dimitri smiled with razor teeth sardonically and tilted his head. “Cruelty? Oh, Mr. Fraldarius, I am but a humble demon. One who hungers and feasts on the ill-fortunate and evil. And my, am I quite hungry.”

“I…I…”

Felix lurched up and threw up again onto the sand; this time, blood spilled out and he hacked while crying as the wet mess congealed between his hands. In the madness of his state—crying wildly, vomiting out everything, begging frantically, a small word slipped out of his mouth and hung in the air like a spell.

The hands that trapped him on both sides stopped in their oppression and Felix began to mutter like a lost child.

“GlennGlennGlenn. I want my brother. Where is my brother? I...I—Glenn!!”

More blood vomited out between his bruised lips and the swordsman gasped, calling out for the man who will never come. Finally, he hung his head between his shoulders and cried out to the beach, hands clambering desperately, fingers covered in waste, blood, and sand.

Beside him, Petra laid dead, staring out into the jungles of her home with a smile. The sun still shone brightly over the bloody seas from the leviathan’s body. The birds chirped overhead.

The demon’s hands slowly slipped down to the swordsman’s heaving waist and Felix was carefully picked up into a familiar pair of arms and a comforting chest. Dimitri, himself, suddenly seemed tired as he gave a weary, half-smile; the demon cooed sweetly and wiped Felix’s quivering mouth clean.

A voice came, but not the same biting, cruel tone that cut into Felix so deeply; it was one of attentive concern. Almost love.

“Oh, my beloved. You understand now, don’t you? The weight of your wish? Would it not be so easy to give you powers and let you blast your enemies away without a second thought. I truly wish you had asked for that instead. But this is what you wanted,” Dimitri said very softly, just so that it was between them.

Felix had peered up at the demon with a drunken, sedative look—blind and unseeing, and still wet with sorrow. Dimitri could only chuckle gently and leaned in to place a chaste kiss on the swordsman’s sweaty forehead, staying very still to slip in another promise of endearment. An eternal oath.

“Your hands are forever red. Your soul is tainted. But I will keep you with me. I will protect you, my precious little thing. So keep going, keep fulfilling your greatest desires. The finish line is just in sight, don’t you agree...Felix?”

In the distance, the waves of Brigid crashed against the ivory shore, crystal blue mixed with swirls of blood-red in a beautiful miasma of color. A unification of the soul.

**| | | Cassandra of Charon | | |**

The third King on Felix’s list would prove to be his most strongest and deadliest opponent: the famed Cassandra of Charon, a swords master who was quoted to be virtually unbeatable, even in comparison to the other kings.

Her mastery over the sword was the great envy of the world and an even greater fear for wicked vagabonds who hear of her coming in battle. They fled like wounded hounds and cowered in the sight of the large, hulking warrior with the heavy blade of killing steel, which was capable of single-handedly decorating the fields in red.

When Cassandra wasn’t clearing the hordes of bandits from the land or instructing new recruits at the Guild, she was happily drinking and singing loudly in the tavern, often getting into boisterous fisticuffs with her fellow kings. For a woman who built a reputation for herself as a formidable warrior, she was incredibly helpful, eager to please, and somewhat wise in her more sober moments.

Felix did not speak much of her, though his refusal to go into anymore detail was not out of spite. A fearful silence fell over him and Dimitri keenly understood that this particular warrior was to be a great and dangerous opponent in battle. The swordsman even softly admitted that Glenn himself had trouble sparring with her and lost a few times.

On the boat to the warring country of Dagda—which the demon had sensed Cassandra was traveling through—Felix mostly stayed in bed, overcome with an unknown illness. He buried himself in the sheets, in a little ball nestled in the dark corner of their boat room. He only rose to eat and take in some air before slinking back to a troubled sleep.

In his lucid, sickly moments, the swordsman sometimes stared through the open flap of his blanket, at Dimitri. The demon stayed very faithfully close to the man, sitting down on the bed next to the balled-up form in the corner.

Neither of them said anything to each other, more content in the peaceful silence that wavered between them and the loud sloshing of the rainy-gray waves. The boat had trouble crossing the stormy sea, and their small bedroom rocked with the threat of turning over completely.

Eventually, the great motions on the disruptive sea caused Felix to get increasingly sea sick and the man had to lurch over his window in order to throw up. In truth, the swordsman had been quite sick since they left Brigid though he knew very well it was not because of the vicious water waves.

He had been dreaming of her—of them, of the knight and the assassin. How the hungry crows dove in and feasted on the fallen body of Caspar with his torn eye; how Petra’s lifeless form stared off into the jungle with a smile.

And yet, the purge within him continued. He gasped out and choked to the malevolent, gray-black waves. It beckoned to him sweetly from the safety of his window with a depth so endless, it was as though he were peering into an abyss. Felix’s breathing carried on heavily like a drowned man as his stomach gave away once again.

And then, from the back of Felix’s neck, leather-gloved fingers slipped over the sides of his paling face and gently pulled his black-ink bangs out of his eyes. A figure stood closely behind him, kindly holding the man’s long hair back without a word—just a concerning half-frown and a closed off expression. Felix peered at him briefly before turning back to the open window and exhausted himself further.

After his stomach had completely emptied itself, the man was gently urged back onto the bed. Dimitri showed off a semi-impressive move by summoning a teapot with boiling water of thin air; he poured a cup of unknown tea for Felix and quietly encouraged for the sick man to take it. Reluctantly, he accepted the cup; the liquid swirling was a warm brown and smells slightly of spices. It was a familiar scent, one that awakened a sort of long-repressed youth in Felix.

When he brought the cup to his lips, he almost dropped it out of shock. The taste of a far-away childhood flooded into his mouth with the sensation of warm and comforting spices. It was the same tea Glenn often made him drink, especially when the boy was sick. It was those long, forlorn hours of drinking hot tea and listening to the older brother’s ridiculous storybook tales and legends in the small space of their dark bedroom.

Felix turned to stare in awe at Dimitri only to find that the demon had disappeared completely, leaving him alone with his richly spiced tea, which soothed the painful emptiness of his stomach. And he wondered if Dimitri just took a lucky guess or if he decided to indulge himself and peer into the swordsman’s mind. 

Whatever the answer may be, the tea was enough to make Felix incredibly sleepy and he fell into a rare dreamless slumber as the boat approached the smoky nation of Dagda.

Cassandra awaits.

_______________

Dagda was not Brigid.

It was not a sunny, oceanic island with crystal blue water and thick, green jungles. It was flat, desolate wasteland ruined by war and warring clans; the oppression of rain and blood never left and it was considered an even more dangerous place for travelers than Fódlan itself. However, the country was so far and remote from Fódlan that most accounts of its geography and history were usually left in the dark with just poor speculation.

Only Cassandra intimately knew the country as she had a precious friend who lived there—that was how Felix knew much of Dagda without the use of a guide as the famed swords master often told the Guild stories. However, there was a stark difference between stories and actually standing in the raw flesh on the land.

Felix and Dimitri found that out almost right away when a torrent of arrows sprayed loosely in the thin roof of their boat house as it approached a smokey port. When the duo ducked out and onto the ash land, they accidentally flung themselves in the middle of a roaring battle between two small feuding groups on the shoreline.

It was a blinding storm of sheer, utter chaos—shouting, grizzled warriors in a mixed bloody pile of fighting and slaughter. Lines of archers stood on both sides and thin arrows continued to rain down in a killing storm with an intermingling of pained screaming.

Due to the confusion of newcomers, Felix was immediately assaulted on both ends with blind-sighted Dagda soldiers who mistook the mysterious swordsman to be a reinforcement for the other side. He swiftly deflected and disarmed every warrior that crossed his path in a frantic dance, weaving and slipping around the beating bodies before Dimitri, the golden-haired, blue eyed demon with a cutting figure, stood right in the middle of the ensuing chaos.

“Felix, hold my hand,” he ordered calmly with an outstretched palm.

After the swordsman threw a man off his back, he quickly accepted Dimitri’s cold hand. In the close distance, a pair of warriors dashed forward with a mighty, blood-curling roar. 

A finger snapped. 

It echoed loudly across the battlefield, and Felix suddenly felt himself being pulled away by a strong, unknown force—the same force that threw him up into the high sky, miles from the Tailtean Plains that first night of meeting. He shut his eyes tightly and kept his hand wrapped strongly into Dimitri’s as the wind rushed all around him in a storm and threw him forward like a child’s doll.

When it finally stopped and Felix’s feet actually stood on solid, hard ground, he opened his eyes: a walled-in city, a marketplace full of people and shouting merchants with open wares, traveling crowds of people and rag-torn children playing on the gray streets. There were oil lanterns dangling from wires stripped across the top connected to a strange pillar in the middle of the courtyard, and many different buildings with hanging signs for business.

Felix turned around with a bated breath and faced his demonic companion who smiled sweetly at him.

“I know you said that you did not want me to interfere that much with your journey, but that battle...seemed too much. Especially since you just recovered,” Dimitri explained carefully.

“No, that was...a wise decision. Thank you, Dimitri,” he muttered in awe and continued to look around the impressive city.

For a warring nation, there were impressive displays of established civilizations in the middle of all the conflict—especially compared to Fódlan where even the main cities had to undergo lock down to fend off the rampage of bandits. While the city here was walled, it merely seemed like every day life rather than a new reaction to violence.

The marketplace here was the most populated with crowds of people filing in and out, clutching purchased bundles, baskets of food, and shiny swords, which made Felix’s heart leap. He stared shamelessly as one tall man left a stall with a brand new, polished great sword strapped on his back. The freshly cut steel shone with a faint sheared dip at the ends made the swordsman physically excited, revealing an emotion seldom since he left Fódlan.

Dimitri chuckled and reached over to wipe his thumb under Felix’s slightly open mouth.

“You’re drooling, Felix. I guess you really like the craftsmanship here, huh?”

“Cassandra used to show us the types of weaponry in Dagda,” the man muttered absently, still watching as more warriors enter the large marketplace. “The swords they craft here are absolutely impressive, enough to even rival the master blacksmiths of Sreng. They use a type of black mineral here infused with steel, which makes all weapons both durable and absolutely sharp. It’s even sharp enough to clean cut through a wyvern’s scales! Of course, I never got to hold any of those swords as I was just a squire but…”

“Well, we are here,” Dimitri pointed out wisely. “And Cassandra seems to be a little far off—not too far, however. I do not believe she will be leaving anytime soon.”

“I do need to prepare properly...she is one of the strongest kings.”

“Exactly. A little shopping and rest for the day will not hurt you one bit. Now, since we got ourselves out of that ‘friendly welcoming’, we should go call a room for the night and then explore the city,” Dimitri suggested with a growing grin.

Felix was too distracted by all of the glistening weapons coming out of the marketplace to listen, but he nodded absently like a child and the demon could only chuckle lightly as he led the man away by hand.

As it turned out, Dagda and Brigid were rather close allies with many warriors from the oceanic island here to sell their wares. The sight of sun-kissed skinned travelers briefly brought Felix back to a dower mood and for a while, he said absolutely nothing as Dimitri attempted at various inns for a room.

To their surprise, most places were filled up for that very reason, especially with the influx of people flooding into the main city for protection against all the fighting outside. Rooms already booked with Brigid merchants and travelers from other cities, and for a while, in fact.

Eventually, Dimitri did find a place though it was not what Felix had been expecting for an alternative. In fact, the entire scenario made him blush red with embarrassment.

“What’s wrong with a brothel?” The demon asked in genuine confusion with a short frown.

They stood outside of ‘The Riding Mare’, cleverly disguised with a trotting horse on the main sign—which hardly represented the scene on the inside of masked, skinny-clad women who waved at the men with a wink.

Felix groaned loudly and buried his face in his hands, only making Dimitri more confused and even a bit sad. Some of the women carrying water on their heads stared at the duo outside the brothel. They giggled and whispered among themselves and Felix only groaned louder with an overly-exaggerated sigh.

“You...you realize what brothels are, right?” The swordsman asked softly.

Dimitri tilted his head. “It’s...a place of pleasure?” He said with the hesitance of a school boy asked about a particularly difficult question.

“So you do know what they are. Good. So why in the goddamn world did you get us a room here?”

“Because they have open rooms for the night! Though it was slightly expensive.”

“Yes, Dimitri, they are, because it comes with sex.” Felix arched a brow at the demon and poked him sharply in his stone chest. “Never mind. At least we have a room tonight, even if I have to cover my ears from all the noise in the house.”

Dimitri’s face fell like a kicked dog and he backed away. “I...I did not realize. I’m sorry. I can go and cancel our reservation—we can find a stay elsewhere.”

“N-No!” Felix was quick to reject. He stepped forward, almost tempted to grab Dimitri’s hand were it not for his immediate embarrassment. Instead, he stayed close with a softer, more placid expression. “It’s fine, Dimitri. I’ll live with it—it’s just a night, in any case. Come, we should check out the city for supplies and food.”

The demon nodded with the return of a small smile. “Yes, of course, Felix! Lead on.”

For the rest of the day, the duo went around the large gray city with the marketplace being the first point of interest. Felix was like a fat child in a store full of hard candies—the swordsman practically went to each and every stall, staring up with wide eyes at the killing steel that hung from the posts. Some of the blacksmiths were doing live demonstrations with their grinding stones and crowds watched in awe as they sharpened specially forged blades with flying sparks.

At some point, one of the older blacksmiths noticed the sword strapped on Felix’s hip and requested to see it. Nearly all of the merchants peered over in awe as the elderly man slowly pulled the blade out of its sheath, unveiling the icy-blue steel shining beneath with an eerie glow. There were small gasps and mutters among the crowd and the blacksmith politely asked if Felix would allow him to sharpen the material on the grindstone.

The swordsman whose cheeks flustered at all of the attention gave a silent nod and watched his sword was gently placed against the wheeled stone. Instead of sparks, a strange cold mist emitted from the blade and everyone watched with an open mouth.

After all of the commotion and some praises for such a rarity of a weapon, Felix emerged from the marketplace with Dimitri waiting by a nearby post. The demon had a funny grin as his one eye traced over the pile of wrapped hunter daggers in the man’s arms.

For the first time, Felix smiled back— something flushed warmly between them, which neither of them were conscious of. Dimitri volunteered to carry all of Felix’s things and he followed the swordsman awkwardly as they walked around the city.

Dagda proved to be a land long situated to all of the ugly fighting outside as the entire city was simply one big hub for warriors to rest and recover in before heading back outside to fight. And unlike Fódlan who took to its violence as proof of its lack of control against the madness and greed of men, Dagda merely saw its eternal fighting as a part of its culture—good for business and good for the culture. Children were raised to see fighting as a strength and too often did Felix encounter a few boys brawling outside with a crowd surrounding them.

From the main gates was a trail of wounded warriors being pulled out from the fighting outside—from both sides as signaled by the different colored armor. And yet, neither seemed to care and allowed the healers to both heal and berate them in the same breath. It was a strange culture, one that even made Dimitri smile nervously at the alien nature of it all, but one that hardly promoted hostility. In fact, it was simply life, meandering along.

“I can see why Cassandra came here,” Felix said as he sat down on a stone bench. “Dagda is perfect for someone like her.”

The two had stopped earlier for dinner only to be interrupted by a bar fight. They walked around some more before the shadows stretched from the fading sun. The lanterns were lit and glowed ominously overhead, and most of the women and children had gone home. Many merchants stayed behind to lock up their wares, with some walking towards the tavern for drinks.

In the small courtyard Felix and Dimitri found themselves in, it was just occupied by a few couples, walking around the rocky gardens with holding hands. Some were sparring further off with new weapons, giggling incandescently like school children. The demon stood right next to Felix and looked down at the man with a tired grin.

“It seems like your type of country,” he remarked kindly.

“Probably—better than Fódlan, that is. They seem to handle all the violence well enough,” Felix said as he watched as a woman knocked a sword out of her boyfriend’s hand. He laughed it off as she pushed him against the tree and kissed him passionately. He looked away with reddened cheeks. “It’s a warrior culture, after all. Naturally cultivated. Not like all that repression back home.”

“Yes, well, it certainly won’t make finding Cassandra any harder. And if she’s the famed warrior you told me about, then you will have a lot on your hands.”

“Don’t remind me. I remembered the first time I had to spar with her,” Felix grumbled and stared at his sword arm, turning it back and forth with close inspection. “I barely lasted a second—she threw me against the wall and I remembered waking up in the infirmary.”

Dimitri’s smile twisted to a funny, half-frown. “That’s...quite frightening. Were you able to ever get the upper hand on her?”

“I never found out. She always trained with the new recruits and since there were so many of them, I never got to try again. Though, I can’t blame her. I was just a squire and she had other things to worry about,” the swordsman said with a dismissive wave.

“Will you be confident in your victory? This Cassandra sounds like a beast.”

“Oh, I’m quite sure. It’s been years since we first trained and all of Glenn’s lessons hardened me.” Felix took out a freshly sharpened ice blade and stared into his sun-set eyed reflection, glaring back at him in the glass. “I...come too far to second guess myself. I killed Caspar. I killed Petra. Stopping now won’t make sense.”

“It won’t get any easier, you know. Even the most seasoned warriors feel the weight of their sins,” Dimitri said in a low voice. He stared fully at the swordsman with an unreadable expression but it was far from his usual humorous mockery. “But there is a trick to it that I learned from many of my past clientele.”

Felix looked up and met the demon’s gaze softly. “Yeah?”

“The trick is to keep doing it every day. Eventually it just becomes a chore like any other.”

“That is terrible to say. Terrible. But I see what you mean.” He stopped. “To be open with you, I did not exactly see much combat when I was with the Guild. I wasn’t exactly ‘ready’ yet.”

Dimitri’s cold blue eye slowly blinked. “And yet, you fight as though the act was simply breathing to you. If Caspar and Petra are examples, you’re quite skilled,” he observed keenly with a quizzical tone.

“Well, Glenn trained me in private. Most nights he took me out to the plains to help him fight against bandits and rebels. Those times, it was just for us, and us alone. No kings, no Guild, just us.” Felix clarified absently.

The swordsman had closed his eyes and his body swayed slightly with a growing fatigue. After a quiet minute of listening to the city descend into a nighttime lull, he unconsciously leaned against the demon’s hip with a sleepy contentment.

The one above laughed softly and with a rare show of bravery, ran his cold fingers at the back of Felix’s skull—white slipping into pure black and trailing through the hair. The man made a soft sound at the base of this throat and leaned into Dimitri’s touch, surprising the demon. 

They stayed very still for a minute, both fearful that the moment would end the instant either of them moved. Instead, they listened to their breathing as it joined in a strange synchronization, both calming, both meditative, ever encapsulating.

Finally, Dimitri carefully leaned over and whispered to the top of Felix’s sleepy head: “Would you like to head back, Felix?”

The swordsman’s eyelashes fluttered with awakening but they did not fully open. Instead, he mumbled longingly in begrudging agreement and slowly stood up. He leaned against Dimitri for support and allowed the demon to carefully guide him away back towards the brothel. The night had greeted the walled-in city very lovingly with dim shadows and a pleasant, moon-shining sky. The yellow glow of the lanterns brought forth a sleepy evening that even made the devil himself feel like a romantic.

In fact, he did not notice how rosy his cheeks were at the scent of Felix’s body radiating warmly to him. The demon kept his eyes straight ahead with his hands stiff around the swordsman as they went on quietly.

_______________

Felix could not sleep, in fact. As he had warned Dimitri earlier, the excessive, traveling sounds that ebbed from all sides and corners of the brothel to their tiny, rosy-scented room on the second floor had kept him up in a torturous state.

The man laid on his back, on a low bed—which was just a pile of blankets thrown on the floor, staring up with wide eyes at the ceiling as the wall next to him rumbled with the vicious pounding of a body being hoisted and fucked against it. The woman was moaning loudly, intermixed with the wet sloshing of tongues with whomever her client was—a warrior, probably, based on how the cracks on Felix’s wall began to spread out like a spider’s web from the brutal force.

He finally brought his entire gaze very slowly—deliberately, to Dimitri who sat on the other side of the room. The demon smiled nervously at Felix, which only twisted slightly as his own wall behind him began joining in on the noise. Just a rough shakiness that kicked up bits of stone from the walls, which decorated the top of their heads in a fine, thin powder.

Dimitri chuckled to himself—an instinct Felix recognized as nervousness.

“It’s...not that bad,” the demon offered hesitantly.

The woman in the next room practically roared and begged for her client to ruin her. The wall rumbled wildly as the hanging decoration in the corner fell down. Dimitri kept his gaze straight, even as his own smile faltered.

Felix snickered sardonically. “Sure.”

“I’m sorry. I should have done better for you.”

“Honestly, it’s not your fault. We saw how full the other inns were. If this was one of the few options we have, what choice did we have?”

“But you won’t be able to sleep, will you?”

“Fuck, no. Not like this.”

“Ah, I can go find us another room—”

Felix shook his head. “Now, now, don’t you leave me here! As if that will do us any good. Stay,” the swordsman ordered in a tight voice, even gesturing with a finger for Dimitri to stay sitting down.

The demon obeyed and stared longingly at Felix. Neither of them were in the mood for much conversation, especially with all the noise around them. Finally, Felix rose from his disorientated pile of blankets and rubbed the back of his head from the very shallow slumber. He was looking up and around the room, eyes tracing over how many throw pillows were scattered around the soft ground or how there were soft imprints and unknown stains decorating the thin walls. Their single window was left open, allowing the cool night breeze to flutter in pleasantly.

Dimitri was uncharacteristically silent, though he had been for some time. The demon sat hunched over with his muscular thighs apart and strong arms hung over his knees; he was gazing down at the floor, just near Felix’s side, without any purpose. Just looking to look, and nervous to bring his only eye elsewhere.

In fact, the entire act itself seemed bizarre to Felix, that centuries-old infamous devil who had been chronicled in hundreds of terrifying storybooks, was prone to the act of human vulnerability himself.

This entire journey so far, Felix had witnessed more emotion from Dimitri than anyone else. At first, the swordsman wondered if it was just an act as Glenn had warned him as a child. Dimitri, the debt collector, was polite to ensure a smooth deal. That, in itself, was strictly professional and pragmatic. But now, he slowly began to realize that this was genuinely the demon’s nature, probably the same one reserved for other clients unless it stayed professional. After a while, Felix brought his entire body so he was facing Dimitri and stared directly at him.

“Are you lonely?”

The demon lifted his head as though he had been awoken from a dream. “Pardon?”

“I asked if you were lonely,” Felix repeated gently.

“Now? No.”

“What about when you’re not...in a contract with anyone. What do you do?”

“Wait for a new contract,” Dimitri said honestly. When Felix did not reply, merely frowning deeply at this answer, the demon continued a bit more strained. “It’s kinda like how your kind hunts every night. Nourishment is necessary for all beings, including myself. Souls fills me.”

“But do you have any hobbies? Hm, I suppose that’s just a thing among my kind then. To sate boredom.”

“Indeed, but it’s not like I have thought about it. My own kind gets bored often too. Some of us are mischievous and often interact with your world directly. Some are tormentors. Some are sexual tempters. And others make bounded contracts. Though I consider myself quite plain compared to the rest of my kin.”

“You mentioned that you have a sister. What is she like—”

“Scary,” was all Dimitri said with a strained smile, as if to end all discussion on the topic. Felix did not chase after it if the theme was enough to make the devil shiver with fright. Instead, he wrapped a blanket around his slender form as the wall behind him with the quiet of gentle release and a long, shuddering sigh.

“I never told you this, though I am not sure if it was appropriate, but,” he bit his lip, especially as the demon kept an earnest and intense gaze on him. “Glenn, he used to read me stories...about you. All the time, actually. I kinda grew up around you.”

“Oh, really?” Dimitri said a little too loudly for Felix’s comfort and the demon even perked up with a rosy-cheeked smile—an excited hound at the sight of a treat. “What stories did he tell you?”

“Do you remember a former client by the name of Linhardt?” Felix asked nonchalantly.

The demon’s brightly lit face died down almost immediately and he instinctively sat back against the wall. A very real and old shame filled his expression and it was not from how his neighbor was banging up wetly on his wall in a series of hyper cries.

“Oh, if you don’t want to talk about it,” Felix was quick to correct.

“No, no, go ahead. That was a century ago,” Dimitri said though his voice came out pained. He threw his gaze elsewhere and pulled himself in rather shyly. “W-What did the story talk about?”

“Uh...that Linhardt wanted world knowledge and he tried to get out of the contract by stating you could not take his soul unless he traveled to Enbarr. Which he did by walking into a tavern called ‘End Bar’.”

“A clever little thing. Clever, clever, clever. But what did you...think of me in that story?”

“No matter what anyone does, the Devil will always claim his debt. That he may smile and sing of friendship, but when that fateful day comes, expect to pay in the full,” Felix replied honestly.

Dimitri did not laugh. He did not even blink at the swordsman’s straight answer. Instead, the demon slowly nodded in agreement as both of his fists clenched at his sides. “Yeah, I was expecting you would say that,” he muttered, growing sad and melancholic.

Felix was silent for a time, painfully trying to remember all the times where Dimitri revealed himself shortly against his own judgment—usually offended and taken aback by all of the things Felix thought of him, which was all but a sinister and cruel nature beneath a friendly disposition. Even now, Dimitri looked like he wanted to slip under the covers and disappear.

“You don’t think that about yourself, do you?” He finally asked.

The demon shook his head. “Ideally no. I don’t think anyone wants to see themselves as...something they are not. Or rather, not want to be. I thought I was friends with Linhardt but he always kept his distance from me and thought that my visitations were attempts to trick him. He distrusted me and dismissed conversations with me. When he walked inside ‘End Bar’, there was nothing I could do but collect my debt. I would have been fine if he outwitted me and went away with his soul intact, truly.”

These words were so unexpected and preposterous that Felix nearly believed that he had not heard correctly. But that just made him realize that he truly was locked into a poisonous mindset, the same one that caused so much drift between them these past weeks. Dimitri seemed to recognize the conflict in the man and smiled bitterly.

“You also thought the same. I cannot blame you. The devil is the devil as the cat is the cat; plain in appearance and nature,” he said kindly, even as the neighbor behind him roared with delight—as if to mock the devil itself.”

“I...I am so sorry, Dimitri. I’m sorry,” Felix finally and fully apologized with a white face of shame and awe. He could not find any strength in his voice and his words came out in a weak little sputter.

The man stayed very still on the bed, even as his companion chuckled sadly and got up. Despite Dimitri’s height and nature, he suddenly seemed so small and naked to the swordsman. And yet, Felix was completely lost to Dimitri’s longing gaze, this gloomy, hungry mist that clouded the blue of his eye.

The Devil smiled politely. “May I sit next to you, Felix? I would like to share something with you.”

The woman in the next room started screaming as she was thrown against the wall with a loud thud— _yes, yes, yes_!

“Yes,” Felix said right away, which pleased Dimitri immensely.

The demon took a seat so closely to the swordsman that their elbows brushed against each other, warm skin briefly meeting with ice, and Felix shivered. And for a minute, nothing passed; the neighbor and her client finally sighed with release, their bodies dragging down against the wall and to the floor in utter exhaustion. There were still noises emitting through the house, but with the night growing late, they too began to slow to a muffled crawl.

Finally, Dimitri’s cold hand lingered over and gingerly laced themselves into Felix’s shaky one, fingers connecting into one another so naturally even if their blood temperatures were extremely different. The swordsman tried to control his breathing but it all came out as heightened puffs of air. The demon smiled, not like a smile he had ever bore before, but shy and incandescent like a young woman.

“I must be honest with you, Felix. And you are allowed to dismiss me or find my words to be a trickery—that’s natural,” Dimitri started quietly; he leaned over until his chilly lips touched Felix’s red ear, curling up into a grin. A second more, and then the drop. “I really like you.”

“There’s nothing to like about me,” Felix stuttered uncharacteristically quick as air drained from his lungs. The room was swirling in different colors—distorting in patterns that vibrated across his heated vision as though someone cast a spell out in the open. The demon—the man beside him chuckled.

“Why do you say that?”

“I’m using you to brutally kill my guild members one by one. I left two of them to rot in their homelands and another, I followed here to battle to the death. I’m...not a good person.”

“I never said that you were, beloved,” Dimitri cooed sweetly and tucked the man’s long, black hair behind his ear. “No one is, not even saints. We all have our vices, some more than others. And besides, you know what I am, clearly.”

“Why me?”

“I...I’m not sure. I feel good when I’m around you. And I feel bad when I’m around you. You conflict me. You hurt me. You encourage me. I feel...human, when I am with you,” he confessed in a whisper.

Dimitri hovered close to Felix’s face, but never once crossing the line between touch. However, the proximity and anticipation of it all was enough to rush the swordsman’s blood hotly to his head. It was his turn to chuckle nervously and he even shook his head in disbelief.

“You won’t gain anything from loving me. I’m yours regardless once this is all over.”

“If that’s the case, could I get a taste?”

The request alone was enough for both of them to burst into a small fit of laughter at the strangeness of it all, but they did not move—fingers laced into each other tightly. Once the humor died down, all was left was a stark solemness of the request, a desire—a yearning, truly, and it was not just from Dimitri.

Finally, Felix sucked air through his teeth and turned to him with tenderness. “Alright. Come here, you.”

Dimitri immediately captured the swordsman’s lips in a hungry, aching kiss. The surge of it was so sudden that their teeth clashed for a bit before the two settled into each other naturally. The demon, despite his elusive, seductive nature at times, was a sloppy, unpracticed kisser—a virgin, to Felix’s bemusement.

They held onto each other desperately, afraid that any movement will break the connection apart. Finally, when Felix and Dimitri pulled away and stared at each other’s flushed, breathless faces, the swordsman was the first to ask:

“Are you hard right now?”

Dimitri laughed nervously, if not a bit embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I never felt this way—I can’t control it.”

“You’re fine,” Felix said and licked the side of the demon’s face; he hover right at Dimitri’s ear and smirked as he added slyly. “Has anyone asked you to fuck them before?”

The demon choked loudly in a wild sputter, falling off the pile of blankets from the blunt force of Felix’s inquiry. His face was completely red and he was going manic in a series of crazed mutters and half-laughter.

But Felix was hardly laughing and he crawled over until he was practically cradling the demon’s muscular waist. The swordsman looked down at his companion and smiled, the pride of flipping the _predator_ title around so seamlessly.

The swordsman leaned down and licked Dimitri’s neck in a rush of bravery, earning another strangled noise from the demon. “Do you want me underneath you, Dimitri? Hm? Squirming around with nowhere to go? Tell me, Mr. Devil,” Felix whispered as he kissed him again on the lips, running his hands down his stony chest and even twisting a nipple.

Dimitri gasped with a small tear in his blue eye and the demon panted as his own hands reached right for Felix’s slender hips. His grip was bitterly cold and made the swordsman flinch with his head thrown back. But he only chuckled at the sensation and kissed Dimitri again, pressing hard and feverish, stirring the demon with his lustful tongue.

Dimitri pulled away and gazed up at Felix in a worshiper's exalted prayer. “I...I have never done this before,” he confessed slowly as he watched intensely, the swordsman take off his clothes, piece by piece.

The demon melted at the sight of Felix’s beauty; long, black hair let loose and down his shoulders; his pale chest that pinked upon touch and thin, slender hips; the white of his long thighs. His amber eyes glowed like fire and he smirked hungrily.

“That’s alright. Just keep your eyes on me—let me take care of everything.”

“Y-You did this before—”

“Shush. You started this, Dimitri,” Felix scolded gently as he pressed a finger to the demon's shivering lips. He tugged at his companion’s pants and snarled. “Take it off. Use your dark magic for something useful and strip.”

Obediently, the demon snapped his fingers and all of his clothes disappeared in a thin mist, only leaving behind an incredibly large and muscular body, shivering from the hungry eye of his client. Felix’s hand instinctively reached for the demon’s large cock, stroking a bit as a test before smiling at how Dimitri choked and turned his head away.

“You’re fucking huge. Has anyone ever told you that? Am I your first?”

“You’re my first…”

“Ah, how sweet. Forgive me for another prejudice of mine, but I assumed all demons were succubi in one way or another. But look at you—already hard at a single touch. Pathetic.”

“Felix…”

“Quiet,” the swordsman ordered in a tenderly, rough voice.

He continued stroking until precum slid out and down the demon’s thick shaft, covering the entire cock and hand in a hot and sticky slick. Felix brought his fingers over to his lips and licked it fully, tasting Dimitri’s spent, which made the demon evolve into a crazed, panting beast. His one blue eye was wide with absolute worship and his own face was red from a rare heat.

Felix stopped a bit and then peered over to the pile of blankets. He slid his free hand beneath until he found what he wanted. The man pulled out a small metal case and opened it to reveal what appeared to be oil grease, often used for the lanterns. Or in this case, they both understood what it was used for.

The smell of it unnerved Dimitri, but he could not help but watch as Felix took his two slick-covered fingers and scooped up a plentiful helping. He glanced over at the demon with a strong, encapsulating gaze and smiled with teeth.

“Here is what is going to happen: I am going to ride you. I am going to ride you so hard that I am going to forget about all the shitty things I have done or how my brother’s soul is twisting in the agony from my sins. I am going to ride you until I am bred and full of your demonic spent, and that you will finally know what it means to be _human_. This is going to be a night of firsts for you, my pretty little demon. Agreed?”

Dimitri’s cock hardened and twitched excitedly in Felix’s hand and he panted with a half-smile. “Y-Yes, Fel—”

“Call me, Mr. Fraldarius,” Felix ordered with glowering eyes. “Just for tonight, I would like to feel powerful again. Would you indulge me, Dimitri?”

“Y-Yes, Mr. Fraldarius. Of course, Mr. Fraldarius,” he sputtered with a frantic nod, earning him a laugh.

“Good boy.”

Felix leaned down to lick the nape of Dimitri’s neck as his grease-covered hand wrapped around the demon’s thick length and slathered it entirely. Dimitri somewhat jumped at the slippery, hot feeling of it but stayed still as the swordsman continued his stroking.

Finally, once the oil was all but spread, Felix positioned his hole right at the tip of Dimitri’s cock, trembling with tears. He was laughing—not out of nervousness, but laughing to laugh. Sweat trailed down his face and dripped onto the demon’s heaving chest as his hair fell over his eyes.

“K-Keep your hands on my hips. Yes, like that. Now I need you to pull me down, Dimitri. I want to feel the pain—pull me down,” he ordered tenderly and licked his lips.

The demon obeyed eagerly and gently, loving, impaled the swordsman on his cock. Felix gasped out loudly and threw his head back, sucking in his teeth. He muttered some hissing words of encouragement for Dimitri until the demon had fully pulled Felix down onto his length, completely and utterly skewered. The swordsman clenched so tightly around him with hot, sleek walls and thighs that squeezed on both ends that Dimitri’s cock twitched wildly from within.

A dull electricity flooded the stomach; the demon wanted to cry.

“You’re doing so good. Look at you, such a natural,” Felix cooed from above and leaned over to capture Dimitri’s lips in another crushing, wet kiss. His tongue flickered hotly between the demon’s teeth and this momentarily distracted Dimitri as Felix began to move.

It was slow, with the swordsman sliding up and down gently, forcing the large cock to drag itself fully against the tightness of his walls. Dimitri was panting red, his face plain of the escalating pleasure being built up from the sensations. His hands were still on Felix’s slender hips and brought the man down every time as if to keep him eternally impaled. Soon, the smaller body lifted itself all the way up, right at the tip, before slamming itself down without mercy.

“Felix!”

The man patted the demon’s thigh as though he were riding a stallion and snarled. “What did I tell you?”

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Fraldarius! Forgive me…”

“You’re pathetic. Now, you made me angry.”

Felix started to bounce eagerly on Dimitri's cock until the room was filled with the sounds of wet skin slapping against each other—sleek being forced up into a tight hole as it pooled on the floor. The swordsman chuckled in a manic rush and brushed his long hair out from his eyes; he braced himself against Dimitri’s tight breasts, squeezing a bit with a long-repressed hunger.

The demon cried out and gasped for air like a drowning man. “M-Mr. Fraldarius. I think...I don’t think I can hold it any longer! It’s too much, I can’t!”

Felix groaned and looked up at the ceiling in euphoria. When the demon’s length brushed up against the side of his prostate, his eyes bulged with a loud gasp. His own heart was racing towards death and all sensations multiplied dangerous to outright, overarching sensitivity. Felix’s mind was shot as Dimitri’s cock physically grew and twitched deeply inside of him. In the swordsman’s lucid state, he uttered out like a mantra:

“Fill me, Dimitri. Breed me like a bitch. Give me everything and make me feel like a woman. I want it all—fucking give it to me!” He cried with his eyes rolled up; he planted himself right down fully in a final surge.

“Mr. Fraldarius! Felix! Felix!”

A hot, swirling delight shot into Felix so violently, it was like a gusher being spilled inside of him. The swordsman went still and slack with an open, drooling mouth, tongue out like a bred animal. Dimitri held the man down and continued to cum into him fully until his entire spent slathered Felix’s tight guts in white. 

There was so much excess that it squirted out of the small space of the man’s hole and dripped down below. Felix’s own cock shot out hotly all over Dimirti’s chest and face in a coat of white, painting his abs like a canvas. 

Once Dimitri completely bottomed _everything_ into Felix’s tight body—enough where the man’s stomach bulged from all the spent, the exhausted, mind-shot swordsman slowly pulled himself off of the demon’s cock.

Cum spilled out between his thighs and pooled onto the ground as Felix collapsed onto Dimitri's heaving body. His limp body shivered unconsciously of all the spent that slipped out of his hole and he laughed like a mad man. He could not see; he could not speak except for a few, drunken words.

Though there was no need. Dimitri’s loud breathing quieted to a gentle crawl and he wrapped his arms around Felix’s form in a tender, loving hug. The swordsman had all but completely passed out from the fucking, fallen into a soft slumber against the demon’s bruised chest.

Dimitri kissed the top of Felix's head, keeping him possessively in his arms as he muttered more confessions of love and devotion to an unresponsive ear.

In the wall next to them came the irritated pounding of someone’s clenched fist followed by a cranky, tired voice.

“Keep it fucking down! Some of us are trying to sleep!”

_______________

It was the convenient storm that passed through the city, one that rocked open the gates and forced spectators towards the main square often occupied by resting warriors. The unified, thundering noise of cheering, screaming, and feet stamping against the pavement was enough to stir half the nation awake; the gigantic crowd that flooded towards the heart of the city clambered up each other in a mad disarray to catch but a glimpse. Excited children climbed up on the street poles and the overhanging wires in drones, and watched with unconstrained delight as they spotted her right in the middle.

It was not hard to miss her, by any means—she was tall, taller than most men, with bulging muscle at the arms and a shimmering metal breastplate. In truth, it was a mixture of two things that stuck the warrior out like a sore thumb in the middle of the rainy city: her glowing greatsword of electricity, as though a piece of lightning fell from the heavens.

And it was the striking power of her gaze.

These two alone rendered the weakest warriors to submission, almost like a ‘selective’ ray many had joked. But it was effective—it weeded out the unworthy and only left the bravest and most skilled to face her.

Of course, this hardly mattered to the warrior as her latest opponent—the self proclaimed ‘Monster of Dagda’ to the people, staggered from the loss of his head and slumped down on the ground in a twitch. His destroyed war hammer clashed against the cobblestone and landed a few feet away from the crowd in a spin, revealing the cracks all across the infamous weapon.

The onlookers gawked wide-eyed at the definite death of their beloved champion, stared up at the thunder warrior who wiped a bit of dirt on her cheek and smirked, and looked to one another before breaking out into a roaring cheer. The thunder warrior gave a hearty laugh, slapped the back of the mysterious dark-haired woman behind her, and threw her arm up in victory.

A celebration of combat; a vicious blood and bone; a hardened culture of warriors. Dagda was a nation prevalent in its own strength with all affection reserved for the alive and mighty.

A pair of cleaners ducked in and under the crowd to pull the former champion’s body away along with his head, leaving a trail of blood on the cobblestone; the victor smirked at this, stepped over to where the body once laid, and beat her fist against her breastplate with a distant clang.

The crowd fell into an immediate silence and their new champion spoke—a thundering, booming voice that knocked air out of the lungs.

“The ‘Monster of Dagda’ is no more! A brave, powerful warrior, yes, but who is the one still _standing_?!!” She boasted loudly with raised hands, earning her another wave of a mighty roar. When she raised her hand, they silenced quickly and the champion continued.

“Listen dear people: I have traveled across your beloved land, seeking out the best of the best. And no matter what dark and filthy corner I found myself in, none could best me. None! I have heard tales that your great city here is the heartland of the greatest warriors, but if your strongest _former_ champion could not even last a minute, what good are you?!” The victor spun around, eyeing the crowd with a glowing, fiery gaze; the first five rows backed away and cowered behind each other as her sword sparked with excitement.

A sneer.

“Come now! There must be a strong fighter among you lot! Give me a challenge! Let me taste blood! Or lose your head trying! Is this not Dagda, the nation of barbarian kings?”

“Would anyone like to challenge the ‘great’ Cassandra,” her dark-haired companion beckoned in a half-mocking, half-sullen voice to the city.

However, despite all earlier celebrations and crazed cheering for the bloody death match, no voice rose to meet with the match. Neither the warriors that stood in the back or hardened soldiers or even other renowned champions who were still petrified by the loss of their brother. It was all but a washed wave of disquieting, suffocating, and absolutely tense silence all across the great city, and Cassandra whistled.

“Really, now?” She started with a disappointed tone and turned to her friend, frowning. “Shamir, for your hometown, they sure are cowards here.”

“No offense, Cass, but they just watched you behead our former champion of _forty_ years,” Shamir sneered ruefully and rolled her eyes. “The bar is set incredibly high.”

“Still! All this bragging of warrior blood and not a single soul to rise up for the challenge. Man, I really thought this would be a fun trip from boring Fódlan, but I’m just dealing with small fish all over again.”

The dark-haired woman turned away. “Would you like to set off for another city? There’s a famed brawler in the south you could hack into pieces.”

“Right—another thirty seconds before I end up killing another good contender,” Cass sighed out dramatically and put away her weapon; the piece of physical lightning dying away faintly and into a special sheath on her back. “Alright, we can pack it up. All you people disappoint me! Absolutely boring, the lot of you! I really thought there would be one brave soul in the crowd, but I guess I came here for nothing—”

“I want to fight you.”

A single, steely voice of challenge. It rose in the air in a piercing, striking call and every breath halted and turned inward into utter fear, some even thinking into foolish admiration. Cassandra’s face grew into a proud, dangerous smile as Shamir sighed, exasperated, into her hand. Slowly and with much awe, the crowd slowly parted with a mixture of whispers and mumbles to reveal the admirable fool who dared to speak up.

And like the drop of a coin, Cassandra’s slashing smile dropped to a frown. Shamir lost her breath when she spotted a familiar visage and shifted forward protectively.

The one who stood to face her boldly smirked; his companion faithfully watched from behind, a single blue eye staring in awe at the dark haired companion.

No one said a thing. Not the crowd who riveted their attention between the two pairs. Not the victors or the challengers. Just the thin veil of rain coming down from the black skies overhead and tinkling softly against the blood-soaked pavement. The walled city glistened and darkened with a low, creeping mist.

Finally, Cass spoke. “...Felix, right?”

“Yes. It has been a long time, Cassandra,” the man greeted coolly. His hand was laid intently on the hilt of his sword and he kept an unwavering gaze at Cassandra.

“It has, it has...What are you doing here?”

“I want to challenge you.”

“Really? You don’t belong here, little boy.” She scoffed dismissively and stepped back. “Seriously, go back to Fódlan. Don’t waste my time.”

Felix’s red eyes narrowed disdainfully and he hissed through gritted teeth. “Scared?”

At his words, Cassandra almost laughed out considering how suddenly her cheeks blew up, red with the flush of air. But instead, the champion settled for a derisive snicker and held her hands out in a wild gesture. 

Shamir, on the other hand, was not paying attention to either of them, but was keeping a close, paralyzing gaze at the demon standing behind Felix. In return, he stared back at her with the same reception, if not cooler.

“Scared? Of you? Little boy, remember the first time we trained? I knocked you into the wall and you were gone for three hours. What makes you think I would ever be scared of you?” Cassandra declared loudly and wiped a tear at the corner of her eye. The crowd also joined in on the champion’s insult with laughter but that immediately died away as the swordsman’s expression hardened.

The rain fell and soaked his black hair over his face, long bangs shadowing the bright red of his eyes, which glowed ominously in the dim darkness. Finally a cruel smile slit across his face as he slowly and deliberately unsheathed his blade. It was not a threat—no—but a powerful demonstration. The swordsman unveiled his icy-glass sword out across his figure and showed it to Cassandra who lost her humor at the sight of it. The woman’s eyes widened and had she been a lurking beast, smoke would have shot out of her nostrils from the vicious rage that settled on her face.

Felix smiled. “Do you remember this?” He asked overly-sweet.

“Glenn...so, you know,” Cass sneered and clenched her fists. “What of it?!”

“You betrayed your own brother. You slaughtered innocents. And now, you will die.”

The champion threw her head back to laugh. “Hah! Is this your idea of justice? We did what we had to do in Remire! There was no attack—that village turned out to be the base of Kostas’ operations! Everyone was protecting him and none of those bastards wanted to give up their ‘king’. And your foolish brother...he was weak of heart. He was not willing to take action.”

“He fucking tried to stop you from murdering women and children!” Felix suddenly screamed and almost lurched forward was it not for Dimitri’s hands shooting out and holding him back. Behind Cassandra, Shamir suddenly summoned a bow out of thin air and pointed it straight at the swordsman with a dangerous glint in her icy eyes.

No one moved.

Cassandra’s expression stayed steady and cold, even growing a bit crueler despite the accusation. “Women? Children? Please. They were all insurgents and some of them even tried to kill us when we approached the village. We did what we had to—uproot everything once and for all before more weeds pop up around Fódlan. Glenn hesitated. And that made all the difference.”

“You slaughtered him and Remire for nothing,” Felix bemoaned and shook his head sadly. “You all abandoned the Guild and Fódlan is overrun. It was all for nothing.”

“Isn’t your little pathetic act of revenge for nothing? What good will this do?” Cass said indignant and gestured with a finger to the swordsman as though he were merely an insect scurrying near her boot. “After Dagda, I was planning on returning anyway to help clear out the place. I believe Caspar, Holst, and Leonie are there now, and Petra will return once she visits her family. You see? We did not abandon Fódlan!”

Felix smiled cruelly and brought his sword down to his side. “Caspar and Petra are dead.”

The rain stilled all noise as a chillness emerged and seeped into the bones of every occupant. The crowd of soldiers, families, and vagabonds were captured in a hypnotic trance that forced their attention directly in the middle.

The two warriors stared at each other, Felix’s gaze so dark and leveled, it seemed like he was not seeing for a moment. But his answer was a harsh blow, harder than any physical attack on Cassandra, and when Shamir leaned over and whispered the confirmation of a pained truth in the woman’s ear, the rage of a red demon emerged.

Shadows darkened over her eyes as she reached over and slowly pulled out the blade of lightning from her back. Electricity sparks webbed violently around the sword and onto the wet, rainy ground—thrashing and screeching malevolently with the threat of take off.

The puddles that formed around them vibrated and bounced like boiling water from the nearby lightning rod, as the light around the warrior shot up in a vicious glaze. The electricity jumped suddenly and became so dangerous that the crowd screamed at the sight and backed away until they were distant dots all around the main square, still in observation.

Felix stood his ground and his own sword glowed of ice and the song of northern blood. He slowly went into a low stance, holding the killing blade right next to his head and towards the great champion of lightning. It was there that he noticed Cassandra’s stoic companion, the dark silver-eyed mistress, had suddenly aimed an arrow at him—glowing strings taut and ready for the deadly send-off.

Dimitri’s cold voice called out from behind him. “You’re not supposed to interfere, Shamir,” he warned with a slight growl and even stepped forward.

“Says who? Say you? You have no control over me, Dimitri. This is not your domain.” the woman rebuked sharply. “My fool of a partner here doesn’t know who she is dealing with and I’m going to make sure she comes out of it on the other end just fine.”

“If that’s the case…”

Suddenly, a flash of blue light flashed from the demon’s open palm and shone blindly like the sunlight against pure ice. It shaped slowly into an elongated pole with a curved end, and when the lights finally died away, Dimitri revealed to have summoned a large, bladed lance. It’s center glowed ominously with outlandish power and he stabbed the end of it down into the ground, releasing a few sparks. The demon’s single eye steeled with a cool rage and he snarled.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you hurt this little one either. The fight is with them.”

“I have no conflict with you, Dimitri,” Shamir warned. “Your little pet can just pick up and walk away.”

“He won’t and neither will I.” Dimitri picked up his lance, twirled around in his hand, until he fell naturally into an aggressive stance with the weapon pointed towards the pair—a lion before the hunt. “I’m sorry, Shamir, but your final death is here.”

The archer shook her head, “Shame…” Somewhat regrettable, and then hardened as her grip on the bow tightened with resolve. “ _Shame_.”

“This...this is for them!” Cassandra screamed suddenly and dashed forward first with lightning sparks trailing behind her in the water with a roar.

The distance between the champion and her challenger was close—too close, and Felix barely had a second to duck down to dodge the electrifying swing of Cass’ sword. He felt the sparks seeking him out and quickly shot out on the other side of the town square. Suddenly, from a place unknown, a lone silver arrow shot out towards him and nearly struck between the eyes; Dimitri’s lance went down from above and deflected the shot with an ear-ringing clash of metal.

The demon launched himself up in a blur, wind erupting and blowing up towards him like a violent storm, as he threw his weapon down at the archer below. She vanished like mist, a tiny gust of black feathers spouting up into the overhead surge of rain and wind, and meeting the demon head-on in the sky.

Below, Felix kept his eyes towards Cassandra and searched for the swordsman frantically. When she finally spotted him far off behind her, she grinned madly; with a great swing, the warrior brought her sword to her face and up to the rainy heavens—a flash of lightning struck the sword with a blast, ringing it with unconstrained power. The ground around her webbed with sparks, spreading out and around her, and then the power exploded in a great, blinding burst.

Felix’s eyes widened and he stepped back quickly, dancing around the hungry shocks that struck out and around him. His feet barely stayed on the ground for a second as Cassandra’s power trailed behind him. In the corner of his eye, he noticed the clash of colored blurs in the air.

Dimitri hovered up with his lance and slashed at Shamir who flipped back and shot an arrow at him. When the demoness noticed Felix running along the ground, she quickly shot a bolt at him too before jumping back from Dimitri’s attack.

The bolt sailed down right as the sparks jumped at Felix once more—in a flash, the swordsman brought the tip of his blade over, just right along the edge and deflected the arrow towards Cassandra, who was still stealing power from the storm.

The arrow sang in the electrifying wind and struck the champion right at the back of her hand. The lightning blade dropped with a cry and Cassandra held her bleeding, pierced hand in horror. Shamir stopped mid-way in the air, eyes bulging out of her eyes.

“Cassandra!” She screamed and attempted to dive forward. Dimitri rushed in front of her with his lance out and knocked the demoness back into the sky.

Meanwhile, Felix had seen the deflected arrow strike the warrior’s sword hand, how her mighty sword was dropped onto the ground with a clang. The swordsman wasted no time rushing forward to reclaim his opening; he brought the blade point right at Cassandra’s stomach as she slowly looked up. Far from behind him came a blood-curdling scream.

“Don’t you fucking dare, _mortal_!”

Felix’s feet picked up and just right where Shamir flew down in a combustion of black feathers, right behind him—her arms raised up to shoot a killing arrow into his neck. Then, from the sky, a giant blur leaped down and pierced right through the demoness’ back, pinning her to the ground.

The bow and arrow dropped with death and Cassandra broke her short-second gaze with Felix to cry out in fury: “Shamir!”

The warrior shook off her pain and quickly reached for her sword, but by the time she brought it back to face Felix, the swordsman was already on top of her—too fast for her to deflect and too strong for her to shake off. Without another second, he plunged his blade right below the soft skin of Cass’ breast plate, watching as the warrior's eyes widened with the live surge of pain, blood spilling from her surprised lips. He pushed her down as the sword came out the other end, and both warriors fell to the floor.

The crowd gasped from afar. The rain showered. And all noise died away to a bitter hiss. When Felix opened his eyes to the rainy sky, black hair clinging to his face, he peered down. Right below him was Cassandra, sprawled out with her arms on either side of her like a messiah, with the icy sword stabbed right into her body. Blood spilled out of her lips and she stared up at the rain with half-lidded eyes.

She lulled her bleeding head against the pavement, briefly passing over Felix before settling at the sight behind him. The swordsman turned around to see Dimitri’s hulking figure, standing over the fallen form of Shamir with his lance stabbed through her back. 

The demoness was oozing a strange, black liquid from her body, steam practically hissing from her wound. Dimitri looked up to meet Felix’s gaze. He looked tired.

“You’re not...too bad...kid,” the champion beneath Felix wheezed out with a cough. Bits of blood splashed onto his cheek but he did not move to wipe. He just stood over her and stared quietly. The woman laughed at his silence, laughing mockingly at the cold star above.

“You...you are shot to insanity. Killing off your former members one by one without reason. A mad dog.”

“You all killed my brother,” Felix replied coldly.

“He killed himself that day by a lack of commitment. To think he would...let a mass murder go...Y-You won’t make me feel bad for my choices.” She coughed into a bloody, sharp smile. “I have no regrets for my service. I will die here as I am...fighting!”

The rain poured all around them in a torrent and the crowd far off, slowly disappeared, as if suddenly bored by the end of violence. Felix stood alone with Dimitri watching from afar, steadfast in their silence. And the dying warrior kept laughing, even as she set her glazed over eyes on the demon.

She grinned like a mad man. “Ah, you’re just like Shamir...are you too waiting for your meal, Mr. Vulture? This little one’s soul should be ripe for the picking…”

“Were you in a contact with her?” Dimitri started coldly, leering down at Shamir’s form.

“Ay, I was...for a while too.” Cassandra gasped out weakly and stared at the fallen form of her demon with a heartbroken smile; her bloody hand reached out desperately, grabbing at the empty air. “She promised to show me the greatest warrior in exchange for my soul...but she...she knew it was you! And yet, she still fought for me...by the goddess, look where we ended up, Shamir. Come, demon, bring her to me.”

Dimitri tore his lance out of the demoness body and allowed it to fade away in the air. He picked up the body of his kin, who was slathered in a thick black ink, face contorted white with eternal slumber, and gently laid her down beside Cassandra. 

The fallen warrior sighed with fainting breaths of death, and curled an arm around the dead woman, bringing her close. Shamir’s head lulled into the nape of Cassandra’s neck and there came a low sob from the warrior.

Felix and Dimitri watched side by side as the black rain fell around them.

“I’ll leave you with this...Felix. I...didn’t attack Glenn first. Neither Caspar, Petra or Leonie...it was all self-defense. We did not intend to let things get out of control the way it did. But you...if you want more answers...ask Holst,” Cassandra whispered with her eyes closed. She was nearing death by the second as her olive-kissed grew to a sickly white but this did not distract from the woman’s bizarre jovial nature.

Felix’s frown thinned to a fine line. “Holst? Did he encourage the lot of you to kill Glenn? Throw him down like a dog?”

“He loved Glenn...and sometimes, desperation makes a man crazy,” Cassandra spouted and stared directly at Dimitri this time. He looked away, as if in shame.

The dying warrior gestured to the blade stick sticking out of her body and smiled. “Come now, Felix...you done well despite everything. Finish this...end me. Let me die as I lived, please,” she begged as more blood poured between her lips.

There was a small moment of consideration, very fleeting at best, and then Felix quickly pulled his sword out of Cassandra’s body. She hissed deeply and before she could open her eyes, Felix slash the sword across her neck. The warrior’s body twitched against the wet ground—gurgling sounds erupting from her mouth, coughing and spewing. Finally, it all stopped.

Only the rain continued to fall.

Felix did not remove his gaze from the two dead nor was he able to turn around to the demon who watched him from afar. All around him, the city fell into a cool silence with not a soul in sight; the onlookers had long recognized the difference between blood sport and pure, undiluted violence, and had left Felix to the privacy of his rage.

Finally, he lifted his head up and stared up at the dark heavens. “I...I don’t think it’s getting easier...Dimitri,” he stated in a small voice.

“It never does. But you’re not shaking or crying this time.”

“No...no, I’m not.” Felix let the water wash the blood away from his sword and stared at it.

In his silence, he desperately sought out deep within him any sickly feeling that emerged---any bile that dripped down into the pit of his stomach and pooled over like poison.

There was none.

Not even his sword hand trembled and remained utterly still and meditative, as though he had just finished chopping onions. Below him, Cassandra and Shamir laid into one another—a marriage of two bodies, blood and bone.

A hand gently clasped over his shoulder and a gentle voice urged him along. “Come now, Felix. Let’s get you somewhere dry and warm. Maybe with some tea.”

“Two more.”

“Pardon?”

“Just two more names,” Felix repeated with a short, broken laugh. He covered his eyes and chuckled against Dimitri’s shoulder, hands clutching on both sides of the demon’s arms. “I’m so close. The finish line is just in sight, Dimitri!”

The demon slowly embraced the laughing man and turned to stare at the two dead warriors on the ground, joined together in death. He sucked in his teeth, ignored the venom climbing up his spine, and whispered melancholic: “Just two more names…”

“Two more names.”

**| | | | Holst of Goneril | | | |**

Holst Goneril, high lord of Fódlan's Throat in the far east, was the fourth name on Felix’s list. As the title suggests, Holst is of noble blood and was the only King to be of high standing in society outside of the Guild. However, it was neither his wealth or power the earned him a place among the other warriors, but the man’s extraordinary skill.

Holst was renowned for his mastery in virtually every subject from the bow all the way to brawling. There was not a field he did not succeed in and if there was a new form of combat, he picked it up as a bird to an exposed worm. A natural master of war.

The young lord was a prodigy in every sense of the way, and was arguably the head of the Heavenly Kings. Devastatingly handsome, exceedingly clever, and bore a heart of gold. It was Holst who led the Guild by example and was personally responsible for the deaths of several bandit kings including the infamous Kostas.

After the battle in Remire, Holst returned to his isolated castle in Eastern Fódlan to handle the affairs of his land. It was there that the warrior-prince has been since in a disturbingly uncharacteristic silence, especially for one of his reputation.

So it came as a great surprise that when Felix finally returned to his native Fódlan—to the dirt, to the grime of the bandit-infested land, a courier had been waiting for him on the mainland. The messenger bore the crest of House Goneril and silently handed the confused swordsman and his companion a special envelope before riding off in a white steed.

The two stared at the mysterious figure as he disappeared over the horizon before looking to each other and then to the letter. It was a special message as it was stamped with House Goneril’s yellow wax seal, only used for communication between other houses of nobility or other special institutions.

Felix reluctantly opened the letter and pulled out a card which he held out for Dimitri to read together as well. The magnificent penmanship was so extraordinary with imaginative curves and squiggles that even the devil himself had trouble reading it and went on slowly as the message unraveled itself from the words of the high lord himself.

_My esteemed friend,_

_You have been cordially invited to attend the grand masquerade ball at the Castle Goneril in the honor of my young sister—our lady, Hilda Goneril of her twenty-third birthday. It will be a celebration of friendship and unification as we come together and give our fair lady regards for a long and prosperous life._

_I hope to see you and your one invited guest come to Castle Goneril at the base of Fódlan’s Throat on the night of the last day of this month. If you do decide to attend, we welcome you with open arms and a toast of sparkling champagne, though do remember to shield thy face with a festive mask, as per_ _my sister’s_ _the theme of the night. I thank you kindly and wish in good faith for your decision._

_Lord Holst Goneril, first of his namesake, warden of Eastern Fódlan._

When Felix finally folded the card and tucked it into the ripped envelope in a slow, mechanical show of utter disbelief, the wicked demon peering over his left shoulder with teeth as sharp as a lions and an arctic, unfeeling blue eye said in absolute delight:

“Oh! A masquerade ball! I always wanted to attend a party! Do we get to play dress-up?”

The swordsman could only sigh, exasperated, and turned over to shut his companion up with a hungry kiss. The envelope in his hand still felt heavy and sung of dangerous intent.

_______________

“What if it’s a trap?”

“If it is, Holst could have just sent assassins or mercenaries after you. No, he knew you were coming back from Dagda and had a courier wait for you.”

“So he knows about the others,” Felix muttered darkly.

“We shouldn’t be so quick to assume that,” Dimitri advised.

The pair had settled for the night at a merchant’s inn, one of the many around the eastern Fódlan. Unlike the north, which was assaulted by the bitter cold, famine, and dark legends of spirits and demons, or the south, which laid in the heartland of thievery, bandit attacks, and weekly raids from rebels against noble lands, the east was the county of merchants and loosely-strung alliances.

It was the region of wealth and politics—which was often strapped to a roulette wheel and spun around until it landed on a different name every week. Nothing stayed the same in the east, no one stayed loyal in the east. Business partners one week could easily become enemies the next in the blink of an eye. It was often joked about in the south on how merchant lords would sell their own mother if the price was right.

Based on how badly Dimitri had to flirt and seduce the woman at the counter, eventually passing her a golden coin, the pair understood that they were neither in the stoic north or the dangerous, free roaming south. Here the greatest weapon was one’s tongue—ensure that it was coated in silver and nothing lower, and the only way to reach Holst with proper conduct.

In fact, it was the demon who quietly pointed out in the privacy of their room that Holst would be the most difficult to reach: he was the reigning lord of an entire region of Fódlan, was a part of the grand nobility, and whose presence was always felt in the country.

Once he falls, everyone from the port city of Derdriu to the northern fortress of Fhirdiad would hear about it. And if Felix made it a public spectacle like he did with Cassandra, he would be hunted down and killed by the ensuing mob before he could even finish his list.

For Holst, his death needed to be seen as a tragic accident or a political assassination, with Felix out and undetected by the end of the night. Unfortunately, Felix was no assassin nor was he particularly subtle in anything he does, especially just plain, pleasant conversation. Or courtly affairs.

“Getting to that masquerade is our best shot to get to him,” Dimitri continued as he ran his hand through Felix’s long hair, humming as the black strands fell between his white fingers. “Then there could be a chance we could get him alone or perhaps cause a natural accident to befall the noble lord. Either way, we cannot fight him head on, not with all of eastern Fódlan there as an audience.”

Felix breathed softly into the demon’s arm, which he had been resting on as a pillow for the last hour. He felt Dimitri’s tired smile boring at the back of his head, gently tugging on his hair in soft, soothing motions. The swordsman closed his eyes and buried his nose into the demon’s bicep as his mind raced in different directions.

Holst. Holst Goneril. Probably the only person other than Leonie and Glenn who was aware of Felix’s existence at all. He searched for awful memories but all he found were soft moments of the giant man gently encouraging the young squire along with a genuine smile. He trained with him out of want, and on most days, he and Glenn fought until nightfall.

Holst and Glenn. Felix groaned and pushed away his sentimentality.

Glenn was dead. Holst was alive.

The high lord must pay for the brother’s murder. But the only problem was how. Felix had long realized that Holst would be difficult to reach overall, and even more so since he was naturally surrounded by politically powerful people in the country including his own family.

“A masquerade ball...couldn’t I just go in a mask and slice his neck? I mean, who is going to know that it is me?” Felix asked as Dimitri’s other hand slipped under his arm and wrapped entirely around the man’s torso, pulling him into a larger body.

The demon pressed biting kisses against the back of Felix’s pale neck—which he got into the habit of ever since Dagda, and smiled against the skin. “That is ideal and we could do that. But even still, it would be too risky if he is surrounded by his cohorts. Perhaps you could get him alone?”

The swordsman hummed lightly and took one of Dimitri’s hands idly. “He invited me. Me! Which means he knows that I’m after him. Do you really think that he would just let a pursuing killer of his to just walk into his bedroom and stab a sword into his stomach?”

“Well, it is still a masquerade ball with hundreds of people in attendance. You could just cover up the identity of ‘Felix’ for a night,” Dimitri pointed out matter-of-fact.

“Yes, yes, that’s the idea now, isn’t it?” Felix murmured, distracted.

He played around with Dimitri’s strong hand, fascinated on how stony cold it always was or how the fingers were as strong as steel. It did not even look real, most like a marble statue he often found in the old Guild halls, poised with eternal, beautiful form. The demon’s skin felt like ice against his own, and he even licked one of the fingers in a weird show of curiosity—the warmth of his tongue lapping up had startled Dimitri into a strained yelp.

“W-What are you doing, Felix?”

“Your hand is really big. Has anyone ever told you that? Everything about you is really big. Are demons usually bigger than humans?” Felix murmured, almost irritably, before lacing his small fingers into Dimitri’s as if to test their size.

The demon swallowed down whatever he had to say next; these past few days he had been taken aback by his companion’s extreme want of desire, especially after Cassandra and Shamir’s deaths. It was the desperate need for warmth and they both knew it, though it was also not very hard to see the thinly veiled feeling—that _feeling—_ which only slipped through the demon’s lips once. It passed between them like fire with every touch and every word shared like a contagious spell.

But they did not speak of it any further, for either were smart enough to understand the reality of ending. It will not last. And only one of them will outlive it. Dimitri did not want to think of it any further, especially with Felix at a strange peace regarding it all.

It was all numb and pain and the long climb up the mountain before the tragic fall.

Dimitri sighed out and buried himself in Felix’s black-ink hair. In the man’s nonchalant and shameless displays of affection, the demon usually returned it with a very gentle reciprocation. However, he was not a lover nor was he born to be a lover. That alone, made Felix the one leading in their dance. And dancers don’t talk.

With this, Dimitri felt brave and whispered with a fearful reluctance at the swordsman’s ear.

“We don’t...you don’t have to go after Holst.”

The smaller body against his stiffened at this and a growl emitted from the back of his throat. “What do you mean, Dimitri? Of course, I do! He has to die.”

“Does he really? I mean, everyone you killed so far weren’t bad people by any standard.”

“It doesn’t matter. They killed Glenn—left his body to rot in Remire. I want their blood, you promised me this,” Felix reminded him harshly with a biting tone. The swordsman almost sounded like he was on the verge of tears and started to breath heavy at the thought.

Dimitri instinctively wrapped his arms tightly around Felix, feeling the desperate beat of the man’s heart imprinted deeply in his skin. There was rage. A building, ever-climbing rage that began to take form, even as the demon snuggled his head into Felix's shoulder and whispered desperately to him in temptation.

“I have seen you kill three of your guild mates so far. The absolute torture on your face is slowly killing you, Felix. Don’t you think it’s time for you to turn away from it all?”

“We had a contract, Dimitri. We are _both_ bound to it,” Felix said shortly with each word halted as if he were trying to catch breath, stopping himself from yelling. The swordsman laid very stiffly in Dimitri’s arms and made no move to humor him in the slightest. “I have gone too far. I can’t stop now. Otherwise, everyone would have died for nothing. Glenn—”

“—is probably squirming in the afterlife from seeing his beloved little brother all tainted and tortured. The dead do not want your tribute; they want you to live for yourself, Felix.”

“What the fuck do you know?!” the swordsman finally snapped and even turned around fully in Dimitri’s cold arms to face the demon with a red, bleeding glare. “What do you know about all of this?!”

The demon’s throat was getting dry; everything was throbbing. “Everything.”

“What does that mean---”

“My sister is dead.” A pause. “I killed her.”

Silence. Aching, bitter silence. One that consumed gluttonously and demanded instant satisfaction, but it was all bottomless and dark and cold. It was like wading through chilled water—not entirely icy, but forever cold and striking as it seeped into the clothes. Evocatively and purely uncomfortable.

Finally, Felix blinked away the red, hot anger that flashed in his vision and stared with a sort of sleepy sadness to Dimitri. The demon was quiet, eyes withdrawn in a long-winded, unforgettable dream that will disappear from memory the minute he wakes up. Then Felix reached over and gently caressed his cheek and the dream went away.

“What did she do?”

“I don’t remember,” Dimitri replied honestly with an absent stare. “It was...so long ago that I forgot. Maybe...five centuries? Six? I-I actually don’t know. All I remembered was that I was...uncontrollably angry at her for...something that happened. Our mother had died—did she kill her? I no longer could recall...but she’s gone. They’re both gone.”

“Dimitri…”

The demon, for the first time since they bounded each other in contract, had finally looked upon Felix fully with the strength so often reserved from his small bouts of rage. But this time, it was pained, leering backwards into open, swirling vulnerability. Human. “I have been alone for centuries and centuries to think about what I have done. I feast on souls because that’s all I know. I envy my other kin who at least could touch and engage with humans in ways not related to consumption. I envy Shamir because she went against her contract and tried to protect Cassandra. But I have no family left, Felix. All I have left are the people I temporarily make contracts with until they leave with their own desires. And the faces blur to the point where I could only recognize names. To be honest, I don’t even remember what Linhardt looked like. Just a name in history, really.”

“And that’s going to be me soon,” Felix muttered absently, and then raised his voice not so highly, but enough to keep Dimitri’s attention centered to him. “You...don’t want me to go. Because you’ll be alone again.”

Dimitri nodded gravely but there was a moroseness to his expression. “It’s not so complicated. Many, if not, all of my clients wanted nothing to do with me. And why would they? They know what I wanted in the end, _technically_. But they never really let me get any close—not until I met you. I...think—no—I know this is what human love feels like. I want to chase it. I want to keep it with me forever.” He reached out and wrapped his chilly hand at the back of Felix’s neck, bringing their faces closer until their noses bumped. An astonished pair of red eyes into a sole blue pupil, both captivated by a mutual fascination in two diverse, opposing natures and a single want.

Even now, Felix almost believed that he was living in a dream, oblivious to his surroundings except for the very thing laying in front of him. Dimitri, for all of his demonic fictionalization in both legend and story, had seemed more real than any person the swordsman met before, and it almost made Felix feel like an exaggerated character. And in truth, the feeling was mutual—at least as far as Felix understood.

He never loved another person other than his brother who raised him from sickness and poverty. Even the Guild he kept an arm’s distance away from and watched Glenn rise the ranks from their days of dummy training. There was not a single moment where the boy’s eyes strayed anywhere else, even to some of the other students who beckoned to him sweetly with promises of love.

It was all physical—disgusting, ugly, and ritualistically human. And once that moment was over, Felix left and went back to staring at his brother, denying his nighttime partner any signs of that same worship. A cold, unloving back and a brightly-lit face towards a single individual.

Dimitri, on the other hand, was given more quiet attention and intrigue than any other person Felix had met before. But then again, this one was the devil and perhaps the swordsman was never meant to appreciate the skin of his own kind. Was this love? It was hard to tell. His heart stung from unwanted thoughts and for a second, Felix almost gave Dimitri the satisfaction they both wanted. He almost gave in to the dream of the devil’s temptation.

Almost.

And then, Felix closed his eyes, breathed very softly through his nostrils, and slowly reached over to clasped an extremely warm hand over Dimitri’s icy cheek.

“I’m sorry, Dimitri. I...I don’t think I can abandon my wish. I have gone too far to stop now. At this point, I’m just continuing out of personal obligation rather than hatred. But...I’m afraid I cannot stop.”

The demon watched him in a pained awe. “But you can stop! Shamir and Cassandra, they—”

“I’m not Cassandra. I’m seeking battles for my own selfish need of revenge. And you’re not Shamir. You will not deny me my wish, because that is betrayal.”

“That’s...that’s not fair! You can’t show and give me such warmth and then steal it all away from me at the last second!” Dimitri suddenly hissed quietly, suddenly enraged to such a heightening degree that it actually made Felix scared, momentarily. The hand that wrapped around the swordsman’s neck suddenly tightened with a killing vice, as if by any second, his own bone would snap in half; Dimitri’s eye glowed eerily and the demon’s face darkened with blanketing shadows. “I love you! I love you so much! I love you in great, unconditional earnest! And I know you feel the same, Felix. I can _sense_ it. But no, you chose to continue down your bloody path after everything I just told you. Once that last name falls, you will feel an emptiness so great and hollow that your own voice will echo back from beyond. But none of that will matter because the contract will _kill_ you and I will be left alone with the soul of the only man I ever cared about.” Dimitri stopped and it looked like he was about to cry. He didn’t, merely shutting his eyes from a terrible nightmare. “I will be alone again. I don’t want to be away from you. Please...please don’t do this, Felix.”

“I’m sorry, Dimitri,” Felix repeated in a broken, weak voice. He no longer found the strength to speak any further and all power of his bite aged terribly deep within with a sickly decline.

Time stood still inside their room. A year passed, perhaps even a century. Maybe two or three or four. The wood walls peeled back and rotted terribly; ivy grew and slipped around with reigning suppression; outside, seasons flew by from harsh, cruel winters to scorching summers; the moon waded and died, the sun rose and fell; language took form and flew away to modernity and the silhouette of villages evolved to something unknown and terrifying. But this was all from the time between Dimitri’s openly astonished expression to the demon’s facade being torn away like raw flesh stripped from the bone.

The Devil started crying.

Felix shifted forward and wrapped his arms around the heaving torso, burying his head in Dimitri’s chest. The rain started outside again and the images of Cassandra and Shamir flooded him all over again. Cruelty rose from memories and all the swordsman wanted now was mercy for the one left behind.

Then, a bitter silence arrived that choked both of them in bed; sleep crept through the door and into the broken hearts of lovers, destined for the coming fall.

It was all going to fall.

_______________

Goneril as a name was not small. Goneril was, as one would speak the word ‘coin’ to a merchant, a universally recognized icon. Goneril meant two things: size and power. Size in the family’s tendencies for every single thing to be large, widely disproportionate, and incredibly memorable for years to come.

And power, that itself was self-explanatory. Even second-removed family branches had some great sway over the country from just bearing any connection to the Goneril blood. Goneril to the people meant King.

And Kings were meant to be obeyed and loved unconditionally.

On the night of the masquerade ball, hundreds of masked nobles and renowned merchant heads of industries—animals draped in sparkling dresses and velvet suits, with glowing eyes of greed and lips that moved to impress—flooded at the open gates of the Castle Goneril. It was a mighty fortress nestled at the base of Fodlan’s throat and could be seen on a clear day from the southern border. Here, a wild circus of power, money, and elegant vice gathered, and nearly no one was here for any pleasures.

In Eastern Fódlan, parties were merely a metaphorical game of chess and they all moved to steal from the King. And then the Wolf and the Lion arrived, and the circus turned into a hunting ground.

The predators stopped just shortly at the entrance of the main ballroom once they passed through the red-velvet foyer. In short, some scenes were merely too much to describe to the naked eye and lived on as metaphors of either splendid grandeur or ridiculous displays of human, artificial vanity. For the wolf, this was a unification of the two.

It was all blinding crystal, marble, and diamonds. One that blinded the eye, especially for those not used to such dazzling light or walls made of anything else but wood. There was nowhere comforting for him to look other than the blackness of his own suit.

Above were high painted ceilings of rose-gold and blue, high enough to rival the heavens themselves; one had to crane their heads all the way up to see, and even then, the painted figures were too far away to distinguish. But they watched from above and not for a moment did any person pass their eyes.

All around the marble walls hung golden framed portraits of figures—probably long dead, but immortalized in the ballroom of deception and noble sport. Their names etched for generations to come, even as their own faces were merely reflections left behind from an abandoned era.

And finally, there were the guests themselves. Animals dressed in fine clothes and jewelry—bunnies, foxes, birds, and other creatures that could be found in the forest, but the symbolism was not so lost on the wolf. Noises of subtly forced laughter, wild tales, and the irritable clinking of thin glasses of sparkling champagne emitted throughout the castle, from the moon-lit courtyard all the way to the foyer.

Irritable, senseless noise.

Servants, who were not permitted to mask themselves for they were not allowed to pass across the line of man and beast—or rather, allowed to partake in the romanticization of beasts. They were dressed in white to match the decor and stood by in stoic wait with trays of drink and food. Utterly indistinguishable and never relevant. Even their movements seemed mechanical and hardly organic.

The Wolf and the Lion found themselves stalled by just about everything in the main ballroom, but were especially enamored with the giant pool in the middle bordered by a colonnade. A white-marble statue of a nude goddess with crystal, sparkling liquid spilling out from the flower nestled in her gentle hands. It was the stupefying, intoxicating smell of champagne with a rosy aroma that made anyone who stood near it lightly drunk and dizzy.

The Wolf's own head actually spun from a mixture of the noise and the aroma of the fountain; he turned to his companion and gestured for them to get fresh air outside in the nearby courtyard.

A nearby servant with white eyes noticed the pair; it walked over and asked the lion if he wanted to eat.

The Lion replied that he will stay with the Wolf.

And the Wolf sought out the King.

The courtyard outside proved to be hardly any better with overly-loud musicians and organized, straightly-cut gardens only meant to please the eye than fortify any sort of natural beauty. Though the wolf seemed rather taken in by the winter roses—a rarity in the south and east, a common flower in the north. It could only be grown in the bitter cold and he wondered how the Goneril clan was able to amass so many flowers. Perhaps wealth, too, could pass biology.

The Wolf, in his displeasure of being surrounded by animals caught up in their fucking, leaned over to the lion and asked: “Where would be our high lord?”

The Lion replied back, delayed, trying to seek their prey out through sensory. “He is somewhere up above, somewhere we cannot reach. But it seems like he will be coming down soon to address the crowd.”

“How soon is that?”

“I believe we should head back to the ballroom and find out,” the Lion encouraged gently.

He picked up a winter rose from a bush and tucked it in the Wolf’s midnight black hair absently. It was only fortunate that everyone was wearing masks lest they would see the redness of the wolf’s cheeks. He scoffed, nudged the lion in a scolding manner, and led him back into the splendor of the ballroom once he caught his breath.

As expected, the crowd had slowly begun to gather around the grand staircase, which led up to the upper halls of the castle. It was a knowledge of coming, that the King of the Forest would arrive and address his subjects.

Women in bunny masks giggled with enamorment with whispers of the handsome bachelor—confused by the King's long celibate status, especially for one of his title. It was not so terribly hard to see that most single women here had been waiting to throw themselves at the noble in the hopes of marriage. Though considering the competition and the King's own aloofness from the public eye, this was merely a fantasy.

Meanwhile, the men of nobility passed nasty remarks of envy about the King's youthful age, pent with suspicion. But behind it all were miles and miles of success unfounded by all of the other slobbering animals in the room. And the men of mercantile, they were plain in their respect for the one who had supported Eastern Fódlan's economy for so long.

It was there that all of the animals of the forest stopped in their useless chatter and turned up to the staircase. Two figures awaited in the sparkling light, glowing like heavenly figures to descend upon a wicked, ruined earth.

A woman—a minx with long, flowing rosy hair and a sly smile, wrapped her arms around a tall man—a stag with antlers that threatened the skies above,

The stag, symbol of Eastern Fódlan's sovereignty and protector. The King. The one who held the leash and commanded with the voice of God.

The Wolf's prey for the night.

While there were so many distractions and colors in the entire ballroom, when the pair slowly made their descent down the stairs, everyone watched in worshiping silence. This was the King, a beloved figure and respected warrior who alone cultivated the economy and safe infrastructure of Eastern Fódlan. His family name was everywhere, even in places where the light could not reach and the impoverished sat in the bitter cold.

In the twisted roulette wheel of political intrigue and loyalty, Goneril occupied all the spaces.

The pair stopped a few steps away from the base and looked out to the ballroom, at all of their guests for the late evening. The musicians, too, halted in their oppressive violins and cellos to give the right of utter silence to the siblings, especially the older brother who raised his hand out elegantly and addressed the crowd.

"Beloved friends," the stag declared in a smooth, musical voice—a controlled voice, which the wolf recognized from years before, to mask insecurity. "I welcome all to our home in celebration of a very important night. As you may all know, this is a night of many changes. Changes, which have shifted our own way of life and the very foundation of this nation. We, of course, may not be so conscious of it: here in the east, our eyes could only see the fullness of our pockets and stomachs, and how clear the roads are paved out or how prosperous our cities are. We ignore the lives of our fellow countrymen in the south and the north for they do not interfere without our own operations here. But, that alone, is a mindset, which will break a nation."

The crowd did not speak but all sensed a wave of sheer, white, and breathless panic flood out like in a brutal hush. The King continued in the same eloquence despite the biting nature of his words.

"We are known as the countrymen of love and pleasure. We gorge on the delights of prosperity, seek out magnificent ways to pride ourselves through excessive hobbies, and indulge in literature and poetry. Eastern Fódlan should be ever so fortunate in that our privileges for such are not afforded in the north or the south. In the north, their eternal cold kills their farms and leaves children to freeze; there are frightening stories of old-world entities stealing away misguided souls and an ever-present suffering that passes through generation after generation. In the south is nothing but ruins; bandits, marauders, highwaymen, rebels, and killers aplenty. Robber kings rose up by the day and villages were burnt down to a crisp. Warriors cut the grass only for the weeds to rise again. And here we are, drink in hand and clothed in fine silk. Here, we have chosen love over duty."

The Stag King shook his head, not so much in disappointment for his people, but himself in a strange way. His sister, the minx, patted him supportingly on his arm and he nodded with a gracious smile. "Friends, you must be confused by my bringing up of policies that do not concern us. This ridiculous idea of love over duty. But neither are so ridiculous as it leads to what I wanted to announce for this evening. You see, all my life I have done nothing but choose duty over love. My personal time at the Garreg Mach Fighter's Guild was nothing more but a demonstration of duty over love. I have led, I have killed, and I have secured a fragile peace from tyrants. I witnessed suffering no man should ever see and have suffered in my own way. I...for a time...too, chose love." When the Stag King stopped to catch breath, the wolf was staring directly at him, the eyes of a predator flaring out behind a black mask. "But in doing so, I almost allowed my duty to slip away. That was a mistake and even now, I realize that it still plagues me to this day. Which is why, in celebration for my beloved Hilda's twenty-third birthday, I have decided to name her my immediate successor starting now."

The ballroom broke the treaty of silence and neutrality with an entire explosion of surprised clambering and overly exaggerated chatter. Some brave voices even making noises of great opposition for the Goneril sister were a renowned sloth and a flirt, neither her great late father or her greater present brother. The wolf and the lion could only witness the stupid chaos of politicians and the wealthy in the flesh. The Stag King raised his hand and the forest quieted.

"I know of the ill opinion you all may have of our queen for this evening," he started with a tightness one expected from scorn and brought his sister forward. The beautiful minx smiled dangerously to her audience, licking her lips as if to signal her hunger. "But know this very well, my judgment for successors is neither trivial nor plain. My Hilda is as worthy of leading as she is of dancing and singing. I have complete and utter trust in her of all regards. And what of me? Why did I name a successor on this good day of celebrations? Because, dear friends, I must be honest with you as I am in all regards: I will die soon. Yes, I will die. I am not sure how—perhaps from the sickness I have kept so long from you all, one that has left me sleepless and weak at night. Or perhaps from a loving, merciful blade." A smile, a longing stare into the forest to the eyes of a leering predator. "But I do sense the end for me and I accept with open arms. In that, I leave you with my Hilda and I hope you will all leave your inquiry of my health to rest. Enjoy the party, dear friends, and remember your responsibilities. For you and all of Fódlan. Thank you kindly."

_______________

The Wolf saw him.

The fourth and the first King.

The Stag who stood on the mountain and peered out over the great forest, in wait for the wolf leering in the bushes to pounce. The great lord of Eastern Fódlan whose name reaches as far as the rocky beaches of Dagda. The famed leader of the Six Heavenly Kings who led them into glory against hostile armies of bandits and robber lords. The sword in the hand, the shield to protect the body. The light to guide the greedy and spoiled to virtue and duty. The kind brother to both a clever minx and a lost squire in memory. The friendly pat on the boy’s head, a smile of love.

He is the one whom the older lost brother loved dearly in the privacy of their rooms. He is the one who took the brother and entered him roughly, keeping the squire up at night in confusion from their hard love. He is the one who brought the brother small gifts and kisses in the shadows, murmuring promises of eternal love and devotion. He is the one who left red marks all over the brother’s body in the morning and the smell of sweat. He is the one who took the brother and danced with him in the courtyard, under a field of stars.

He is the one who stabbed the brother in the back. He is the murderer of the brother. He is the murderer of love.

And he is the one who softly beckons to the wolf from the bushes, from the dark space of the corridors where the beast had followed him after hours and hours of socialization. The predator was tired; the prey was tired. The Stag watched him from afar and slipped through a hidden staircase going up. The Wolf accepted his invitation and followed up without another eye.

It was a den in which the stag had led him up to from the forest, a private study away from the chaotic party, still unnerved by the King’s announcement of death. The Wolf slinked inside, shutting the door tightly behind him with a lock. The study was dark with the exception of the moonlight.

The Stag was looking out of the window of his great castle—den, fully aware of his invited guest; he was peering up and counting the stars that shimmered in the sky and the moon which hovered overhead.

The Wolf walked forward, stopping just right where the light struck the darkness. The Stag spoke kindly with a young voice of memory.

"It has been a long time, Felix," the Stag greeted and turned around with a small smile. The fourth king always saw the squire—remembered the squire. Unlike the others who struggled with his identity, this king knew him well.

And the Wolf bit back with a betrayed tone. "Just a year. Or have you forgotten me? Or him?"

"No. Never forgotten about either. Especially him. Never him." The Stag's eyes faltered a bit and he turned back to the dying stars above. "He haunts my thoughts from above ever since that day. I have not slept or eaten well, though a simple consequence of an end. And that is why you are here, aren't you, Felix? To give me an end?"

"You knew I was coming," the Wolf stated bluntly.

"Yes, I did. I have heard of our beloved friends' deaths. Each and every one of them. Strong Caspar who had been clearing the south of bandits, Beloved Petra who went to see family, Powerful Cassandra who indulged in her honeymoon...and now I. The fourth. And I call upon the reaper with open arms."

The Wolf frowned and yet, he felt no such need to hover his hands over the hidden blade in his coat. "Why? Is this a trap?"

"No, dear Felix. Hardly. The only trap here is for my people at the party. Surely, it would be the top gossip for everyone, to hear that Hilda would be taking over both the Goneril family and Eastern Fódlan." The Stag's gentle reflection smiled back at him from the window. "Yes, I take much pleasure from their displeasure. But I will not take any pleasure from the burden I put upon you, Felix."

"You killed Glenn because he did not want you and the others to burn down Remire. Because he was 'soft'," the wolf repeated with a bitter, spinning memory.

The Stag shook his head. "No, he was not soft. Just the opposite. He was human. He cared deeply for life that he was not willing for us to cross the line in order to finally kill Kostas. Remire, was, indeed, his home village and were shielding him. Villagers had come out to face us with make-shift tools and small kitchen knives. Men, women, children tied together in their own love. And Glenn saw this love of family and did not want us to engage."

A pause. Something ugly settling in the air. It spoiled and rotted terribly. "And in that moment, I saw only two options. Either leave and allow Kostas, the Bandit King, to recover his army and make another assault, losing hundreds more to his submission. Or, I abandon love for my duty. And that is exactly what I did."

The Stag turned around and in that moment, he took off his mask. No longer a King. Just Holst Goneril—ten years older with dark, sleepless eyes, and a mouth that no longer smiled. "I stabbed Glenn first. He fought back. And in the confusion, the others engaged. I was the one who made the first and last move. I remembered his beautiful gray eyes slipping away from life as I pushed my sword into his wonderfully, pure heart. It was me."

There was pain there. A dull, weary pain. It was both received and inflicted. Many joys. Many memories. Many moments shared in love. It all turned inward into consuming, lively grief. A shadow of the rainstorm passing over fields of flowers and never to depart.

The Wolf, too, took off his mask and revealed a weary face. Not one of anger—not even a hint of rage. Just fatigue. A long, dreary crawl. A duty and a chore. Felix felt his own youth slip away and he felt absolutely old.

Holst smiled sadly. "Look at you, Felix. Look what Glenn's ghost did to both of us. The tragedy of it all. The end of 'heroes' and the death of innocence. We Kings have stolen it away and we have made you into nothing but a shell. My dear little brother, I am sorry."

"It matters not," Felix's mantra came up once again, but it was not the same biting infliction. It was a low and sleepy resignation. "My hands are stained red. My brothers are dead. And now you have a due for me to collect."

"Then what will you do after once we all fall?"

"I will give my soul to the Devil and allow him to lovingly guide me away. I will not join you all in the next world."

"I would not say that, Felix," Holst admonished him, not unkindly, for that was not his nature to lecture harshly. He slowly closed his eyes and opened them back up the way a cat does in extreme and undying trust. "We all have...different ideas on the afterlife. For you and Glenn, I know that Northern Fódlan is rather religiously zealot over the idea of eternal damnation. Of eternal flames. Of the Devil who smiles from the woods and tempts so sweetly. I know that well. But would it be so terrible to say that such condemned souls such as you and I can still receive redemption after this life? Perhaps a merciful soul from above will allow us to be with our loved ones once again? Did that ever cross your mind?"

"Not once, at all," Felix replied honestly. "We are born alone and we die alone, and dying with such beliefs are just an illusion."

"Not even love? Would you not regret dying while in love?"

When Felix did not reply to this, Holst nodded as if he understood and seemed deeply saddened by this. Holst always had been a romantic; a philosopher. He recognized things that no normal person should; of the nature of man. That was precisely why he noticed Felix that first day at the Guild and probably why he noticed Glenn.

"Ah, so you have someone. And yet, you trudge on with the knowledge that you will not survive that love out of duty. You and I are not so far away from each other where we cannot see. In the end, we are victims of love. Love for our families and love for those we desperately wish to walk with. Glenn saw how the brothers of Remire took arms for Kostas—I knew he thought so sweetly of you even in his last moments. It's a terrible feeling to lose someone you love. A lonely, aching feeling. In this world where there are millions and millions of people, and an endless of opportunities to find love, we are immediately torn emotionally and destructively by the loss of our truest."

"Felix," Holst called out and held out his arms, in the same way he used to whenever he greeted the boy in his youth. Even fitted with a smile, though it lacked any power from back then. The warrior was too old in a tragic sense for any sort of boyish effort.

Perhaps it died with Glenn.

And the King—the warrior—the murderer—the dying man spoke. "Come here, little brother. Come, and embrace me once more, before you fulfill your duty. This has been a long time coming and I await you feverishly."

It was not the way Holst smiled or called out to him that gave way to hesitation, but merely a long night and a want to sleep in someone's arms. Felix wasn't even looking at the man anymore, but towards the moon that shone through the windows in silver rays; how the stars died away into the darkness without a cry.

Behind the door, the Lion waited patiently and the night was growing old for everyone.

Finally, Felix donned the Wolf's mask and trespassed into the light where the Stag had been waiting for him.

_______________

"Are you okay, Felix?" Dimitri asked when he closed the door of their inn.

It had been a long day of fleeing after Castle Goneril underwent alarm hours nearing the end of the masquerade ball. The Lion had picked up the Wolf who sat comatose in the study and whisked him away, as far as they could get from the ball before settling in relative safety in a tavern in the Gloucester region. Hours later, when the news surfaced about Holst Goneril's assassination, nearly everyone in Eastern Fódlan fell into a natural panic.

Dimitri had guarded Felix in the warm confinement of their room as commotion flooded the tavern downstairs. Outside, guardsman rode on in panic—torches and the stampeding of hooves flushing across the windows in a blur. From the nearby town crier, the entire region was on lockdown by the orders of the new Lady of House Goneril, Hilda.

All in a matter of a few hours, the entire country was in a disarray once again from the death of the great Goneril. And of course, Dimitri had expected it as such considering how it was the equivalent of assassinating a beloved king at the height of his power—a shattering of peace, or least for Holst, a very fragile peace.

"Felix, please answer me. Are you okay?" Dimitri asked once again and went over to the half-conscious man on the bed.

Outside, there were frantic voices and whispers of Lady Goneril's men inspecting all of the counties for potential assassins from the ball; the demon pulled the curtains together and bent down on the bed.

"Felix?"

"Lie down next to me, Dimitri," the swordsman ordered very softly, but the pure urgency of it was enough for the demon to obey without hesitation.

The bed of this particular inn was rather small, probably enough to fit one person and two children—not a man and a hulking demon. Dimitri shifted his body until he was holding the swordsman in his arms, edging off the bed a bit, and stared at him in anticipation. Felix's gaze was still attached to the ceiling and he did not move.

Finally, he blinked himself away from a long dream, riveted to Dimitri, and cupped the demon's cheek in a loving caress—thumb gently probing around the lips. Dimitri hummed and leaned into the touch, chasing a warmth desperately.

Felix was not one to be so forward with his touches, though the last few days he had been hungry from the clear power he had over Dimitri. The man's mouth curled into a very stiff and forced smile, and he said in a very hoarse voice: "I really adore you, Dimitri."

The demon's cheeks flushed with intoxication and he snuggled up to Felix with the vigor of a well-loved and overly affectionate hound. Felix's other hand played with Dimitri's hair, watching with a small fascination as golden locks fell between his fingers. He started laughing rather absently, but the sound was too alien, without reason, and disjointed.

"Felix, I love you."

"I know...I know." The thumb at the quivering lips slipped inside on the mouth and a dangerous smile slit across the swordsman.

There is something absolutely satisfying of seeing a centuries-old all powerful creature of dark magic immediately fall into maddening pieces at his touch, his words, his presence. Something _dark_ passed over Felix's gaze and he chuckled. "You have really pretty lips, Dimitri."

"Oh?" Dimitri's sole blue eye widened in realization; a hot pant expelled out against Felix's thumb. " _Oh_."

"Do you know any succubi? Hm? Do you know any tricks they perform to get their victims to fall to them?"

"I never asked. I had no need to know..."

"That's alright." Felix sat up on the bed and looked down at the demon, head tilted curiously. "You'll learn. Oh, you'll _learn_."

Dimitri rose to meet the swordsman but felt a set of warm fingers sprayed out at the back of his neck; a gentle, firm grip, but that stopped him from rising above Felix in height. He stayed right below the man, watching feverishly as he smiled with teeth and bent over to whisper in his ear.

"Do you want me to make love to you, hm? To feel me inside of you, _Dima_?" Felix asked shamelessly in a low, laughing voice.

"Yes," the demon said right away, without a beat.

His face was glowing red and pink from the exhibition of a pet name, panting wildly with his hands clasped over Felix's other hand with the feral need for touch. His cock was already hard and pushed against the swordsman's white thigh, twitching in his breeches.

Felix hummed at the sight and licked his lips with a clear, undiluted hunger that Dimitri wondered if this was the same man who puked nearly all of guts out on the Brigid beach after gutting Petra. And from the sight alone, it just made Dimitri even more excited.

"Well, if that's the case, you'll have to earn it, Dima," he cooed slowly, his hand caressing the cold skin on the back of the demon's neck.

"Anything..."

"So eager. Come over and kneel in front me. Yes...right there. Good boy."

Felix reached and took off his own pants with ease while the hand that was still on Dimitri gently nudged him down on his strong arms—wedged right between the swordsman's spread white thighs. Dimitri blinked in a mixture of confusion and excitement and his blue eye riveted up to Felix.

The man had settled back against a makeshift pile of pillows and blankets, watching the demon with a far-away, drunken look. His free hand reached down towards his cock—already hard and twitching with precum, and it jumped right in front of the demon. Dimitri eyed it hungrily with his mouth.

Felix laughed distantly. "That's the spirit. Since you're new at this, we'll go slow. Open up and take me, Dima—and keep those lion fangs to yourself or I might just step on you."

The demon was trembling, already crawling forward and staring at Felix's cock with the same near-worship the swordsman showed to all of the weaponry in Dagda. And it made Felix swoon with intoxicating, hot delight. Eagerly, Dimitri obeyed the command and took Felix's length into his mouth—his surprisingly hot and moist mouth, the very ends of his fangs nudging into the soft skin.

Dimitri had to spread his lips wide open in order to avoid grazing the swordsman with his teeth, the paleness of his cheeks turning pink with effort. He presses his possessive hand around the thin fat of Felix's milk thighs—squeezing as he wrapped his exceedingly sticky tongue around the cock and began to bobble his head in slow movements with slurping sounds.

Felix's hand slinked away from Dimitri's head, fully knowing that his demon is an obedient little pet, and sat back with his teeth gritted. "Y-You're a natural...you must have someone in your family who was a succubi, huh? Such a thirsty, lustful creature..." he hissed with a satisfied smile and threw his head back as his twitching cock touched the back of Dimitri's tight throat.

Dimitri doesn't choke. He doesn't pull back nor does he show any signs of an amateur. Instead, he started taking Felix fully, swallowing the whole length deeply into his throat; his single blue eye opened to a half-lidded, drunken gaze to Felix, and fluttered with long lashes. His fingers left purple marks all over the man's white thighs, squeezing ever so often to remind the swordsman to look down.

The partner leading the dance was beginning to shift and Felix did not mind one bit.

"Did you touch any of that stupid champagne at the castle? Of course not—look at you. So greedy and earnest," he breathed hotly with a mad grin and reached down to gently brush the wet strands of hair from Dimitri's face. The demon's tongue wrapped in a vice and lapped hungrily once he pulled back and kissed the tip.

When Dimitri opened his mouth again, Felix jerked his hips in suddenly, forcing his cock down the demon's throat. The sole blue eye opened widely in surprise, even more so when the swordsman lovingly grabbed the back of his hair and pushed his head down in between his thighs. Dimitri's usually pale lips were swollen red with spit and blood, and Felix's heart raced on a drug.

"You're so beautiful. Has anyone ever told you that? Do any of your clients ever just take a look at you and call you beautiful? They should—you're devastatingly pretty," he growled, watching as Dimitri utterly _melted_ from the affection of his rough words. Felix thrust his hips in and the demon sucked in the length with eagerness, moving his head up and down with a watery eye. "So damn pretty. When I go, you'll remember me. That's right—I'll leave you with something to remember me for all eternity. You won't love anyone else than me, Dima. No one!"

Dimitri groaned and nodded while lapping on the length, swallowing it entirely until his nose was right into the swordsman's public hair. Felix's chest expanded with pressure as threw his head back and whined. Everything was spinning, turning in quick degrees like a swirling storm. The room shifted around them until it was just them and the sheer blur of colors and space.

Suddenly, Dimitri's hands completely spread Felix's thighs wide open as he viciously sucked the man's cock with a thirsty vigor—forcing it so deeply down his throat that Felix wanted to burst. The bobbling becomes faster—sloppier, desperate, and needy. At the same time, Felix roughly grabbed back of the demon's head and began to meet eagerness with violent, fast-paced thrusting, hissing as the demon's throat closed around him.

Suddenly, Felix jerked back fully and exploded hotly with a yell. There was nowhere for Dimitri to go, except to sit there and swallow all of Felix's seed, drinking it like milk. Once the very last drop was squirted out, Felix gently nudged the demon off of his crying cock and collapsed against the pillows with a loud sigh.

His entire body was aching red with flashes of white. Everything throbbed at the corners of his vision and he did not even notice that Dimitri was crawling over to him. The demon's face swollen at the lips, with bits of cum dripping down from his shaky chin. His blue eye was glazed over and murky, with his hair down loose over his face. He hovered over Felix's limp form, pleadingly haggard, and in a state of euphoria.

The two gazed at one another, a gluttonous intoxication that they could not break free from. Finally, Felix chuckled weakly, pushed himself up, and kissed Dimitri right on the lips—tasting his own spent. The demon moaned from the touch, their tongues pushing into one another hungrily. Finally, Felix pulled away and licked his cum-covered lips with a smile.

Dimitri shivered from the sight and hardly reacted when the swordsman pushed him on right on his back and climbed on top of him.

"You've been so wonderful to me, Dima. So, so good," Felix said as he caressed his lover's cheek. His other hand had clasped over the large bulge in Dimitri's pants and he smiled ruefully. "You deserve something to remember me by—a reward for such amazing service. Come now, lie down and let me love you. I'll make you shiver and cry all night, my beloved demon."

Like water, the demon went limp on the bed as Felix pulled down his pants and freed his monster of a cock. There was more laughter, the faint smell of grease spread out against a warm palm before the slathering on an exhausted length.

The entire time, Dimitri watched in close fascination and worship, falling into pieces as he felt Felix slowly open him up with his oil-slicked fingers. He probed deeply and spread the demon's hole open favorably, thrusting upward against an unknown spot _up there_ that nearly broke him down into a sob. Finally, with a breath-taking, suffocating kiss, something hard pushed up deeply into him with a relentless hunger—a greedy hand wrapped around his weeping cock, and Dimitri broke away to cry.

For hours all throughout the night, he sobbed excessively with a mixture of begging and pleading. By the time Felix woke up—still inside Dimitri and had passed out on top of him, he discovered that it was the early morning. Their bruised bodies were white and sticky with spent, the sheets were stained and torn, and the entire bed frame had collapsed on the ground.

The demon was asleep, clutching onto the swordsman desperately with an iron grip, and Felix pulled out of his lover's abused hole with a _pop_ , shaped completely and edging from the sudden emptiness. After he peered around with a groggy look, he plopped back down on Dimitri's wet chest, and listened for the sound of a very distant heartbeat.

It was distant but it was there, joined in by the gentle beat of Felix's.

Outside, the morning doves were singing awakening with bits of sunlight pouring in, but Felix paid no mind as he fell back into a peaceful slumber and enjoyed the feeling of love.

And he stayed to enjoy it as long as he could.

This would soon end. And the knowledge of parting stung even worse than eternal damnation for his sins. Beyond, a voice called out to him.

**| | | | | Leonie of Sauin | | | | |**

At the river banks of Sauin village, near the descent of day to dusk with a bleeding sky, Felix realized that he no longer could go through with confronting Leonie after all.

The last warrior on his list was one he pushed off for last, simply out of hesitation to face her at all.

Leonie had been a squire when Felix and Glenn first came to the Guild. She, too, had come from extreme poverty and sickness, and worked only to support her sick father at home. The young woman was, undoubtedly, the first friend the boy made at the Guild, especially considering his own fragile state. 

She was hard-working, funny, and incredibly quick-witted in the battlefield, with Felix often spending hours watching her train as he recovered from his own sickness. Eventually, the boy joined her as a squire in his own right. Though only one rose through the ranks and became the last Heavenly King.

Unlike the other members of the Kings, Leonie was the only one who reached the top by her own hand. Caspar was supernaturally strong, Petra was as fast as the wind, Cassandra was invincible, Holst was a master in all fields, Glenn was simply gifted, and Leonie—she fought and climbed, tooth and nail, her way to their great ranks. And that, alone, scared Felix tremendously.

For she was also the one who snapped his arm and gave the man a cruel mercy that day in Remire. He still remembered the cold, unfeeling look in the woman's eyes as she threw him down next to the corpse of his brother, and walked away from the flames. A betrayal so deep that it haunted him for many nights after that.

Now, Felix was tired.

He realized that his dream in getting vengeance for Glenn with Leonie being the last warrior was not fulfilling in the slightest. It was like eating with a bottomless hunger. For the past few nights he and Dimitri traveled down to the village, it had been a difficult process for him.

The swordsman found himself collapsing from pure exhaustion, losing consciousness in Dimitri's arms and waking up, snuggled warmly in another inn room. The locations were all different from spot to another, but the feeling was the same: Dimitri was getting warmer, his heart was actually beater, and Felix felt like stopping and never leaving.

But he kept going anyway. However, the slow, terrifying crawl towards the end for both Felix and Dimitri felt like a daily execution, one after the other. Some nights, the swordsman did not sleep; he laid in bed and stared at the demon's peaceful face until the sun rose. Other nights, Dimitri sat outside and buried his face into his hands—Felix lacked the courage to go to him, and merely covered his body in the blankets. They struggled harshly against the shared idea of parting but it overpowered them, and all that was left was a brutal silence.

Once they reached Sauin, in which Leonie was approaching the village from a day's travel away, Felix slumped down nearby in a forest and stared at the passing river. Suddenly, thoughts of confronting a beloved friend and leaving behind another haunted him; fires of sorrow exploded within him and made his sword—Glenn's sword, extremely heavy. He was tired. He was slow. And all he really wanted to do was to go home.

But the swordsman knew he could not turn back; he had gone too far in his destruction. This was it.

The sky was crying red, just like that first sunset with Caspar. Except it was not exactly bleeding. More so, it merged together like a serene painting of red, purple, and blue with silhouettes of forests and mountains jutting in the distance and birds flying overhead. Even the forest he found himself in was beautiful with dark-green trees and rivers that flowed beneath fallen logs with a clear glaze over the small rocks. A frog leaped nearby and into the bushes, and there was the distant song of doves.

Felix closed his eyes. A voice came forth once again, but it was stronger than before with a clear vocation. A memory from before, not so distant and murky. Glenn had told him something, something before the Kings had left for Remire.

The very useless existence of mankind. The older brother had studied the stars—a strange fascination, which the younger brother never understood. But he sat by him regardless under those star-filled nights and listened. Up above, Glenn used to say, are millions and millions of lights. These lights are merely worlds, millions and millions of miles away. The sun and the moon are just tiny little dots, but are big to us because our world is close. This is a space so bottomless and endless that there are worlds like ours that spread out into numbers so big, it cannot have a number meaning. There is an impossible scale of measure, which we can never reach. Our ideals, our lives, our loves are merely ants crawling along the ground of a universe too large to be written down. Everyone was merely ghosts moving along and forgetting each other's names and faces until a reunion in the next world. All was meaningless unless they themselves could find meaning in the small world they occupied.

Glenn was a strange man. He was considered a heretic by many due to his theories. He studied the sky, the stars, and the world. He had ideals and even in the face of his own mortality and inevitable death from legacy, he still kept to them. That was the meaning he took and died with. That the world was uncaring and small in the vast space of things, and that he chased after his idea of meaning, even if it killed him.

And in that moment, Felix felt like crying. In fact, he did cry, though only a tear. He thought the ability had left him ever since he awoke to the pale, lifeless face of his brother in the burnt ruins of Remire. The swordsman wiped his face and sniffed dryly.

What did he want? Was there truly a point in his slaughtering of people who thought they were doing the best? Or perhaps these questions were no longer relevant. He closed his fist tightly and stared off at the small fish that traveled downstream in a family.

Family. That was all he wanted. He never rose the ranks from a squire for he was content helping and training with his brother. He rarely went on far-away missions that took him away from Glenn nor did Glenn seem inclined to join the other Kings on expeditions. Life in the Guild was simple and that was all he cared about. It was love in the purest form and in one night, it was all snatched from him so suddenly that he did not know how to react.

The broken-arm man buried Glenn nearby, aware that the Guild will never believe a squire over the word of the other kings. He took the brother's ice sword—the one he was thinking of selling back at their old village for medicine before joining the Guild. After that, he wandered and sought out a doctor to heal his crippled state, but none could. It was impossible—Leonie had completely snapped his arm and nothing could be done about the bone. He was lame and useless in battle without it. The Kings had left without 'justice' and in Felix's rage, he sought out the Devil himself.

The Devil. Dimitri. The lonely creature of the Tailtean Plains. The one without a family.

Perhaps Felix always knew that outcasts tend to stick together. The Bandit King Kostas and Remire were merely outcasts hoping to unite Fódlan in a twisted way, and they all died together. Together in death.

At that moment, all logic and burden of duty departed Felix's mind when he thought of Dimitri again, the thought of Glenn's words about the vast space and the smallness of mankind. The thought of family. In his killing of the Kings and the acceptance of his own death, the swordsman had long prevented himself in descending into full selfishness; for him, he could not stop for that very reason—to go too far without a return or a stop.

But who would care?

Felix shot up from the grass and immediately dashed back to the village. The rush of wind blew through his long, black hair as it whipped back behind him and he ducked around the branches, running faster with a long-denied happiness.

Who cares? Who cares? He was a selfish monster anyway—those who have hurt him are gone and Leonie was one he feared deeply of seeing again, but one he cared for the most. It does not matter in the end, the world won't remember his rage or sorrow, and all will be gone in a blink of an eye. Let him chase happiness, abandon duty for love, and slip away from this world with what he really wanted in the end: family.

Once the swordsman passed the trees, he saw Dimitri standing out over the village clearing. His golden hair glowing under the warmth of the sunset, his black figure casting an endless shadow that blanketed the ground. Felix smiled—actually smiled for the first time since Glenn, and brought his hands up in a shout.

"Dima! We don't have to fight Leonie! Let's get out of here and never look back! Dima, I---"

And then Felix stopped.

In a flash, Dimitri stepped back and that was when the swordsman saw exactly on who was on the other side. A figure glowing orange like an ember in the sun with a killer lance trailing black ooze—blood from the cut on Dimitri's arm, on the ground. Eyes of pure, soaring fire saw him and roared with the might of a dragon, practically consuming him right then and there.

Felix's face dropped.

"H e l l o Felix. It has been a while," Leonie greeted very slowly with a large, unblinking gaze. She stopped right in the middle of the clearing, the pole of her lance dancing between her fingers.

Dimitri moved to join Felix and muttered in his ear with a half-pained voice. "She came out of nowhere, Felix. I didn't even sense her at all!"

The swordsman nodded and stepped forward. "Leonie. It has been a while."

"Your arm is healed," the woman stated dully, though her gaze was scorching. "I'm not surprised, really. I should have done a better job in Remire. But you were always a fighter. Though I am disappointed you had to enlist the help of some demon to do so."

"Leonie, listen." Felix shook his head, making no reach for his sword. "I...I made a mistake. I should not have come here to find you. I will go far away from here and you will never see me again," he said, ignoring the intense shock on Dimitri's face.

But none of that mattered when the last warrior began to laugh out loudly. She cackled with a madness Felix could not recognize and slapped her knee, shaking her head and sighing before looking back up with a smiling, furious rage.

"What the fuck are you talking about? You, who have killed ALL of our friends, have the goddamn audacity to fucking leave? No, you're not going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere. This is it, Felix. The end of it all!" she screamed, brimming tears flushed beneath the burning flames of her eyes.

It was all wild and feral, with no sense in reason or reality. A snarl. And a deadly grip on a weapon. A creature too bent in its rage and lust for blood.

Felix closed his mouth; he was peering off into a mirror that reflected him the sight of Caspar, Petra, and Cassandra. The last moments of clarity against the storm of violence and wrath. And he felt like throwing up again.

"Leonie, please...I know now what I done. Please, let us leave and you will never hear from me again. I...I don't want to fight you," he said in a voice that was not his.

"You left Caspar to be fed by crows—I saw his body! Petra's family found her dead on the beach. Cass and her friend slumped in Dagda. And poor Holst...he...None of them deserved it!" She wailed and held her head between her hands. She was crying and shaking, something dripping from her mouth.

“You killed Glenn.”

“And I should have killed you. But my mercy...it…” She covered her face and shook her head in a sob. “My mercy killed all of us.”

“Leonie, please. This isn’t you.”

A broken-hearted hysteria of loss. Finally, the moment stilled like ice and the woman rose her head in a quiet, unconscious trance. Sleepwalking with a smile. "I have been looking for you, Felix. And I will not let you leave!"

Suddenly, the lance in Leonie's hand launched out so quickly, it came in a blur. Felix hardly had time to duck before he realized that it was not aiming for him. Instead, the steel went right through Dimitri's hand, which had moved to try and teleport the pair away. The demon fell back in a cry, crumpled against a nearby tree with black ooze spilling from his hand.

"Dima, hold on!" Felix cried and when he moved to take Glenn's sword out, he turned and felt something wet pierce his stomach. 

Wet. Cold. And the flush of naked air breezing right along his insides.

He stared with open eyes and a soundless mouth at the face of Leonie, at how her hands clasped over a hunting dagger which was buried deep in Felix's stomach. The woman was smiling with eyes as beautifully red and orange as Southern Fódlan's signature sunsets, and she sobbed happily.

Leonie had gone mad. She wasn't _here_ anymore. Felix wasn't _here_ anymore. He had not been here in a long time. Just two ghosts screaming at the ghosts in their mind. And in that moment, Felix realized the mercy of her actions and love she held for him in doing so. She was reaffirming his will. The swordsman took out Glenn's sword of blue and returned Leonie's love in devotion.

She froze, though not unexpectedly. The trembling hands that held the knife pulled the sheared edges to the left and _something_ of the highest pain and shock, which traveled up his spine and rendered him speechless, _spilled_ out of him and onto the ground. But he did not move. She did not move.

Instead, Leonie blinked away the fire of her gaze and revealed a familiar face, one Felix recognized so affectionately in his youth. A friend, a companion. 

She pulled back her chapped lips and grinned with red teeth—the same one she gave to Felix whenever the two were matched in their sparring. Proud and utterly joyful.

"F-Felix. A tie...again...huh," was all that she could mutter through the blood. Her eyes rolled up white in sleep; the woman fell back from the sword and onto the ground with a far-away smile, dead.

Leonie was gone.

A chill and a wonderful numbness climbed up from Felix's unfeeling legs and he fell forward, into a shivering, familiar, and loving pair of arms. The chest he was buried in was beating violently with a warmth that even he could feel in the bitter winter that settled deeply in his skin. 

It was so pleasant and Felix felt like sleeping, especially when his body was gently swayed into a loving, tight cradle.

A half-crying voice echoed through the serene ocean in his ears.

"F-Felix! Hold on, I'll heal y-you," Dimitri stuttered wildly, his hand hovering over the swordsman's torn stomach.

Something wet kept dripping down on Felix's face, but he could not see where it was coming from. In fact, he could not see at all except colors blurring around like ink in the water. Dimitri's beautiful face was all a submersion of cool colors smudged across his sight.

"No...it's too late, Dima. The contract..." he uttered as blood dribbled out of his lips.

The demon suddenly halted with his hand hovering just above the open, spilling wound. Right a few feet away, Leonie laid dead in her wonderful suicide. The last warrior was dead.

Then the gong rang—it sounded somewhere far and distant, but both had heard it deeply in their hearts. A gong. A bell. An end. 

Very gradually, the sleepiness that overtaken the swordsman had turned into a very light and pleasant feeling. Almost like his soul was slowly peeling with absolute tender care from his body. It was mirthless and wonderful like the smell of subtle perfume or the arctic pine of the north after snowfall. Felix was drifting along on the stream, on a boat, and the day was beautiful.

And then Felix could finally see Dimitri again so clearly that he wondered if he were pulled out of the water.

He opened his eyes. Everything seemed normal.

The demon—his lover's face was slathered in sweat and dripping tears, a single eye trembling. Just a man. Not a horned creature or a shadow. This tiny, tiny man of kindness and love. There was nothing being concealed; not a hungry creature or a cruel demon.

Just a man in mourning.

Felix tried to laugh but he could not laugh—there was too much blood in his lungs and it came out in a noiseless choke.

Dimitri was saying something but he could not hear it fully. There was too much water in his ears and it all sloshed around gently like wading along the waves. Felix wanted to laugh but he stopped because he felt too tired. He was tired.

"Why are you crying?" Felix slurred lazily, blinking in confusion. He reached up and touched the tears trailing down Dimitri's dark eye. It was hot to the touch and almost stung. He smiled, or at least, tried to. He was tired and sleepy. "Demons shouldn’t cry. You’re all supposed to be like evil, tempting little things like in the storybooks. Could you be a stereotype for me?"

"— _trying_ ," said the demon through the mist, but it—he, was being too human and too emotional. Felix wanted to get angry and scold him, but none of the energy was there. An oddity, for he felt absolutely nothing at all but a very gentle drift down a river.

A second gong rang out and Felix closed his eyes once the fog came back for good.

The only sensation that radiated through the foggy numbness was the constant drip of hot tears upon his face—warm, warm, warm like summer rain. Even the pain around his stomach subsided and all was fuzzy and pleasant.

"— _Love you_."

"I love you too," Felix tried saying but it all came out a long, drunken slur, brimming with bits of loose laughter. He lulled his head against something heaving and felt the steady vibrations of a heart. A beating, frantic heart threatening to break away.

"This was a mistake. We should have never come to Sauin. We should have left Holst and Leonie alone. I should have left all of them alone."

" _—never should have met_."

"I don't regret that. I came to love you deeply. I would not mind...doing this all over again if it meant I could be with you."

" _—L o v e you_."

"Can you still hear me? I can't hear myself anymore." Felix opened his eyes and saw nothing but colors moving about across the water. He reached up and laced his fingers around a shaky, wet hand. "Eat plentiful, Dima. Devour me whole, body, blood, and soul. Let's become one. I want to be with you for all eternity."

_"—forever."_

“Forever.”

The third gong rang.

There was nothing but a long, long, long light that blinded and flashed. All sensations numbed to a wonderful and painless unfeeling. Drifting up and around him, wading across the water until his body was left so far behind shore, he was sure that he was nothing more than a small dot in the distance.

A devastatingly kind darkness seeped in and all was gone and done with.

_______________

The sun had set long before Dimitri decided to stand up.

There were no lanterns in the village so all that arrived was an utter pitch blackness that engulfed the area in a solid blanket.

The only thing that could be seen in that impenetrable darkness was a single blue eye, glowing and ebbing weakly in the clearing. And right below that was a strange, glowing orb fluttering about like a wisp. It floated right in front of the demon and waited in feverish impatience, almost irritable even.

Finally, a blood-soaked shivering hand appeared from the darkness, clasped around the orb, allowing it pulse pleasantly with vigor. The demon tucked it close to his chest, sighing as if to preserve a sacred warmth. Just for a moment, however. The glowing orb then disappeared with a faint hum in the demon's heart and the creature shivered with an unwanted, unconscious delight.

Then, he stood up.

In his arms with a limp, dark figure, which cannot be deciphered in the darkness. Tucked protectively under the demon's arms was a glowing ice-glass sword, wet with a dark, unidentifiable liquid. He gently brought the body up closer, nuzzling a hung, lifeless head up against his cheek. The blue eye was glazed over wetly and slowly closed in eternal slumber.

After that, the demon simply vanished away—the body, the orb, and all else to point to an existence of someone ever being there in the first place.

Just a legend and nothing more, fated to never resurface again.

And he never did.

**The Northern Fódlan Guide to**

**Werewolves, Witches, and Wicked Beings of Legend**

**(2XXX Winter Edition)**

_The Bastard of the Tailtean Plains: Perhaps the most renowned and studied Devil figure in legend, spanning across books, movies, and television shows._

_Popular culture aside, the actual historical account of the famed demon is one of great mystery and intrigue. The northern devil has been recorded with several conflicting depictions, which have been the source of constant debate between mythologists, theorists, and historians for decades._

_But there is one true consistency._

_If a traveler were to take the side route off the main roads of the Tailtean Plains, they would eventually reach the crossroads where a lone willow tree lies. At midnight, a man awaits underneath with a deal to offer—unlimited knowledge, unlimited strength, unlimited happiness—everything to one’s desires._

_A foolish traveler would accept the deal, no doubt, that they have stumbled upon a Djinn. But bad fortune awaits them when that stranger—the devil himself, appears to collect a debt: their soul._

_There have been many stories surrounding the tragic adventures of poor souls who made deals with the Bastard, with the earliest account being the story of a scholar named Linhardt (see minors stories under 'Bastard'). Historians have traced a constant string of accounts from at least five centuries from 1XXX to 1XXX, of different characters and their handling with the Devil._

_However, by the turn of 1XXX, all stories regarding the Bastard suddenly dropped. The very last account, which experts have struggled to understand and make sense of for years, is the tale of the unnamed swordsman._

_Entries from Brigid, Dagda, and parts of Eastern Fódlan have spotted the swordsman traveling with a mysterious figure—believed to have been the Devil in disguise. The details of the swordsman's wish, however, is unknown along with his fate._

_Some believed that he may have succeeded where Linhardt could not: he won over the Devil himself._

The blue car almost knocked into the forest gate once it came into view from the darkness and it stopped with a loud, some-filled screech. It wrestled to a grinding halt just barely right at the pole, slipping against the wet rocks, and steering obnoxiously with a slight spin. The passengers inside hardly seemed too disturbed by the motions, sitting lazily with the driver scratching the back of his head.

After a moment, a droopy-looking forest ranger who had clearly been awoken from his shift nap, stared out of the security booth with an indignant stare, before reluctant stepping out. He took his time coming over the driver side window, even stopping to stretch his gangly limbs before bending over and rapping his knuckles on the glass with his flashlight on.

The driver had to shift and forcibly wheel down the window himself with a lazy urgency, and the two men stared at each other.

The forest ranger chewed on something invisible in his mouth and took a point to look back inside the car. A whole party: two men in the front, four more squished in the back seat, and at the very back, was a set of legs poking out, crossed over casually.

The driver clicked his tongue and the ranger snapped back to his attention.

"Camping overnight?" he asked, blinking.

"In a way," the driver said with a lopsided grin. "We're kinda here on a school-related matter. Won't stay for long, I assure you."

The ranger burped suddenly without thinking to cover his mouth and one of the boys inside made a point of wave his hand around dramatically. "Ah, hah...what school are you kids from?"

"Garreg Mach University. Again, it's just a small project—mostly my brother's," the driver said, jabbing his thumb behind him to the mystery legs at the very back of the car.

"Best be careful then, kids. There are some things out in these woods at this time."

"What, like bears? I'll fight a bear," chimed the blue-haired boy in the back, even putting his fists up for good measure.

The purple-haired young woman next to him clasped her hand over his arm, and gently nudged him down. "It is unwise to pick a fight with nature."

"I'd say let him," the other woman suggested with a half-laugh. She brushed her red hair back and chewed on a piece of gum. "Going around with such gusto, I'd like to see you go toe to toe with a grizzly."

"I'll honestly jump in. It'll make a good pic for this girl I'm flirting with," a taller, much sturdier woman said with a sharp grin.

"Now, now, cut that talk," the man sitting on the passenger side of the car warned and turned back to the ranger with a nod. “We won’t disturb the nature.”

“Ain't the nature. No, there’s something else out here, deeper in,” the ranger said with a particular unenthusiastic tone. But he did not sound humorous either.

“So other campers? Cool, I hate talking with strangers,” the driver said.

“You kids are actually the first visitors all day. Something about tonight is off. I would stay on the path and stick by the markers. And stay away from the crossroads.”

“Why?”

A new voice. From the very back of the car, peering out between the heads of the girls was a young man. Harsh, sunset eyes, and long hair tied back. In his hands was a heavy book and he kept his thumb nestled between the page’s spine.

The ranger frowned. “Folks have been reporting some strange things over there. Strange, strange things. At this time of the night, it’s just safer to stay away.”

“Noted,” said the driver with a nod. “Again, we won’t stay long. We will be out shortly after midnight.”

The ranger seemed satisfied and went over to lift the gate from the booth. The blue car passed over with some of the students waving a hearty goodnight, and they disappeared into the oppressive darkness with just the red of their tail lights wading down the road.

The car bellowed down the road and nearly missed the sharp turn onto the bridge, which was unmarked and unlit. It creaked with age especially beneath the desperate squeal of the wheels against the woods, and they passed over deeper into the woods. The darkness, at this time of night, was so heavy that the lights barely went beyond a few feet, only showing the rocky road ahead.

It traveled a few miles down, ignoring the obvious signs, which pointed to the campsite on the more secure sides of the forest, and headed straight down to the water. Rocks pelted the undercarriage as low branches swung out and scratched the windshield. Finally, the car careened to a screeching halt right over to an isolated spot on the upper side of the road—an old, unofficial campsite with a few fire pit rocks kicked around the sand.

The driver stepped out rather aggressively and peered around the campsite with a sneer; everyone else slowly piled out reluctantly, with the back of the car opening up. Smoke spilled in all around them and into the chilly night air and the blue-haired boy sneezed.

"Tell you what," he started, shivering. "Why don't we start unpacking everything and starting a fire. I am freezing out here."

"I told you to wear layers, Caspar," the red headed girl said with a roll of her eyes. "We're so far in the north, in the woods, at—" she peered down at her watch and looked up. "11:40 pm at night."

"Why did we come to the Tailtean Plains at this time?" The taller woman asked as she peered around the black woods. "This is not exactly the prime time to be setting for a camping."

"That one has some stupid urban legend project," Caspar said and pointed to the young man occupied with his book.

He briefly looked up, red eyes flashing incandescently, and frowned. "My name is Felix."

"Don't pay him any mind, Fel. Caspar has a terrible memory," replied the driver with a reassuring smile. He stretched out his arms, looked up at the sky, and hummed pleasantly. "Looks like a full starry night. Maybe we'll do some stargazing while everyone is asleep, Holst."

"I had a feeling that was why you brought the telescope," the other man chuckled and slinked a strong around him, pulling closer to whisper in his ear. "I saw that you only packed five sleeping bags too. Have any ideas?"

"Please. Don't," the redheaded woman grunted out and shook her head, exasperated. "I really don't want to tell Hilda that I listened to her brother and his boyfriend fucking in a sleeping bag."

"Oh, Leonie, you don't have to tell her."

"Well, you don't have to do it."

"Hey, love the conversation, but I need some help with setting up the damn tents," the taller woman growled from the back of the car. She and Caspar lifted the various equipment and flung it down at the campsite.

"Oh, but you have much strength, Cassandra," the purple-haired girl said with a smile and lifted a couple of coolers out with a single hand.

Cass grinned sardonically and wiped her mouth. "Yeah, well, I'm in the business of lifting, Petra."

"Is that you told the girl you met at the party last week?" Leonie asked as she began to kick the fire pit stones back in place.

"It...worked? I mean, I got her number!"

"I don't believe you," said the driver as he lit a cigarette in the darkness. Nearby was a no-smoking sign and Holst slapped the man's back in a disquieting rebuke as he went to help the others.

As the group chatted irritably among themselves and slowly set up the camp around the area, Felix stood by his smoking brother and gently tugged at his sleeve. The man blinked and peered down; a warm smile flooded his face—lit by the small embers of his cigarette. He patted the back of the younger man's back, bent over slightly and asked in secrecy:

"You won't go far right? Where I can't reach you?"

"I have your tracker," Felix whispered and gestured to his hip where a small machine beeps red dots in the darkness. "I'll be back."

"I know you will. But don't keep me waiting. Go take your pictures and come back straight away. It's not safe to stay out this late."

"I will. I promise, Glenn."

With that the older brother ruffled his younger brother's head and went off to join in on setting a small fire at the pit. Felix watched the group in the darkness with a small amount of uncertainty, stared off at the heavy book tucked under his arm, and disappeared down the road.

He knew that the group did not mind this late to the Tailtean Plains. They were all night people in their studies. By day, most of the group buried themselves in their studies and did not come out until the sun was gone. Glenn, in particular, did not mind the long drive from Garreg Mach to the plains since he liked making road trips, even with the everyone in the back arguing and screaming at each other.

It was a _usual_ journey up until this point with noise, various bathroom breaks, Holst and Glenn switching places, and Caspar repeatedly asking if they were there yet. Technically, while they were only here to help Felix with his end of the semester project for his mythology class, the young man understood that the entire group probably wanted to hike in the morning and take the weekend to visit Felix and Glenn's home city of Fhirdiad.

This trip was more so of an excuse for them to get away from their own projects, though Felix did not mind. All he intended to do was take pictures of the crossroads and—possibly, for some extra credit—actually sit under the willow tree and test it himself. It came as more of a dare by his professor and none of his other peers wanted to do. If Felix actually came back with a time-marked picture of himself at the crossroads, he would have enough to pass the class for the semester.

Around his scarred arm was his camera bag; a recent accident from Leonie had left his right arm a bit weak and strained, but it was nothing he could not muster and insisted on carrying things himself. The young man pulled out his hiking light and went down the side trail of the Tailtean Plains, memorizing everything he had been taught so far and read. Even with the woods, it was easier to see where he was going as all the trails had been sketched and laid out years prior. However, despite this, the side trailed withered with age until it was nothing but overgrown foliage and ivy.

It seemed like no one wanted to go anywhere near these crossroads.

Felix stopped and stared off into the darkness. And for a while, he felt a growing...strangeness crawling up the back of his spine. As though he had been here before. Of course, that thought, itself, was rather silly for the young man had never camped in this part of the Tailtean Plains before. All of this was new to him and yet.

Felix blinked and all of a sudden, he really did not feel like using the Northern Guide's map anymore. He just walked and allowed his legs to take him further into that gradual gentle darkness. It felt comforting, like strolling through his very own house. Somehow, he knew just where to turn and where to go down, and all of a sudden, Felix found himself at a fork in the road.

In the middle, a weeping willow tree nestled on top of a watery, dark bay.

Felix smiled to himself and wondered keenly if he was simply a natural navigator. Even better than the northern stars itself, he believed. Without another word, he pulled out his camera, switched on to night vision, and began snapping pictures around the site.

The entire time, the young man felt absolutely at ease, even in the blinding darkness. His body and mind had relaxed itself and tricked him with flashes of familiarity that should not have existed. Perhaps it was for the best as he was not particularly frightened of being alone.

Whatever 'thing' the ranger was talking about that stalked these woods at night, he certainly didn't sense anything. Maybe except the dull sensation of something watching him, but Felix merely waved that off as a small animal.

Once the young man exhausted his camera in and out, the only thing left to do was to enter the willow tree itself and wait. Felix checked his phone as it lit up his face brightly and checked for the time.

11: 55 PM.

Just five more minutes and he can take a picture of himself inside the tree for all of them to gawk at. The man sighed, rubbed circles into his temple, and then went in. The area inside the tree itself was surprisingly dry and warm, even with the black water wading nearby.

Felix found a spot to stretch himself down on and waited. In truth, there was some small hope that this ridiculous legend could be true, only because he was rather bored with himself and the class in general. For most, the fascination laid in the implication rather than the could be.

And for Felix, he would not mind if some horned stranger came and made him an offering. He could just laugh it off and tell it as a joke to his friends next week; they'll laugh and never believe him. At least it would be a funny story.

The man checked his phone once again and saw that it was now 12:00 AM. Exactly midnight to the dot. He looked around him, at the leafy curtains that fell over and shielded him from the darkness outside. Just the sound of crickets and a few animals scurrying about. No demon.

Felix sighed, rather disappointed, and brought his camera around to take a picture of himself.

And then he heard it.

Felix stopped and put his camera down slowly. He listened, hearing nothing at first, then detecting a faint, airy sound in the near distance. Footsteps, slowly coming up towards the willow tree.

On a moonless, lightless night, the only thing that stopped Felix from bolting out and running was the sheer hope that the darkness would shield him. However, he decided to turn on his flashlight as a warning and aimed it at the entrance of the willow tree.

The footsteps got closer and closer, and then, right at the very base of the willow tree, a single gloved hand slipped through and parted the curtain.

A man. A young man, with a pale complexion, a head of golden hair, and—what made Felix hold his breath for some unexplained reason—a single blue eye, which glowed eerily in the darkness like a sentry. He wore a pure white coat with a blue scarf tied around his neck and left loose past his broad shoulder.

Somehow, the sight of the stranger made Felix stay incredibly still, though not out of fright. They stared at each other for what felt like a century and finally, he spoke very slowly, flashlight still in hand.

"Good morning," he said, hoping the stranger would get the joke.

The man's pale face slowly transformed from sheer white shock to a suffocatingly affectionate and red warmth, and he laughed loudly.

Felix froze from the sound. Had he heard it somewhere before? It radiated so deeply within him that he never noticed the stranger slip inside and sit across from him with a beaming smile. Everything felt weird and out of place. And yet, Felix made no attempt to move. In fact, he did not really feel like leaving anymore.

"Are you here to check out legends too," the man asked in a smooth and icy voice; a restrained voice, which made Felix wonder why his new companion was exceedingly excited. He even appeared happy with the slight trembling of his shoulders.

"No—well, maybe. I'm here to take pictures for my stupid mythology class," he replied, gesturing to the camera.

"Of the Devil?"

"Just the crossroads site...and maybe the Devil, though I think I can just stick a pair of horns on my cat and call it a day."

The man chuckled with pink cheeks and Felix was floating away, intoxicated.

"So, what are you doing here? Also trying to summon the Devil himself?" he teased the stranger sardonically, a bit taken back by how riveting the man was or his own unexplained fascination with him. It all came back to him like paper boats in the water and for some reason, the feeling of familiarity stuck.

"Me? No, no, though I am an expert on the subject," the man said with the tilt of his head.

Felix arched a brow and hummed. "Really? A local expert on the Devil?"

"Just about, yes. Though, I'm afraid you can't quote me for privacy reasons."

"Hah! I wouldn't dream of it. All mythology experts are weirdos." Felix stopped when he saw how wide the man's smile had gotten, how dazzling the blue of his single eye became. It was consuming him. "No offense," he added quickly.

The man shook his head. "None taken. Though I can answer questions you have since you're doing a project."

"Really? Even the ones the so called 'historians' could not answer?"

"Try me," the man challenged with a white half-moon grin.

It was a slow, gradual feeling but one that he did not ignore. Felix placed his camera down and sat fully back as though he were at an old friend's house. The man was staring at him, smiling effervescently with the occasional glow of something Felix could not decipher. But it was pleasant and sweet like an aroma of a traveling perfume, and he chased it desperately.

"Alright," he said and leaned forward with a sneer. "There's this particular story that even my professor can't answer and he threw away half of a thousand grand to major in the damn field. Why did the last account of the Bastard of the Tailtean Plains ends with the unknown swordsman?"

The man perked up excitedly. "Oh, that's easy."

"Impossible!...What is it?"

"Lean in close and I'll tell you."

Felix blinked at this, rather puzzled, but nonetheless, leaned in towards the stranger. The man smiled brightly, brimming with overwhelming energy and affection unexplained. He, too, leaned his body over, as if to whisper a secret in Felix's ear—to sacred and forbidden for the open space between them lest the forest should hear.

However, just as the stranger moved to say something shortly at the earlobe, he quickly changed direction and captured Felix's unsuspecting lips in a hard and needy kiss. In the moment, Felix's instincts were to fight and push the man off—but he didn't. In fact, he went completely and utterly limp, melting into a powerful gesture that sent waves through him.

And then Felix saw it. He felt it. He lived it. Images and voices from somewhere far deep within him, locked away since birth. Two lives separated centuries apart finally coming together body and soul.

When Dimitri finally pulled away and waited with a bating breath and a teary eye, Felix had started crying on his camera.

An extremely warm hand, flushed with blood and a beating pulse slipped over and laced their fingers together. Desperate, crushing, and terrified of letting go. Dimitri was breathing heavily—a bit older, a bit wiser, but nonetheless, still terribly sensitive and weak to emotion.

Very human.

"T-That's why there were no more accounts after the unknown swordsman. The Devil had been waiting," he said and shifted forward until their noses touched. Red eyes mixed with blue. "He had been waiting for a very, very, very long time. In **eternal** devotion."

Felix laughed and the sound was enough to make Dimitri laugh too. Just two laughing fools, huddled under a willow tree, in the bleak darkness of the early morning. A world just between them.

Finally, once Felix used his other hand and caressed Dimitri's warm cheek—he leaned into the touch, nuzzling against it with an old, undying habit—the man slowly went forward, lightly kissed his lover's flushed lips, and asked in a half-irritable voice:

"Please tell you you saved my sword."

Dimitri gave a twisted, embarrassed smile. "...give me three days. It’s somewhere in my apartment."

Since when did demons get apartments?

_______________

HolstG: Are you still mad?

HolstG: Glenn?

GlennF: How the f does a boy go into the woods to take pictures and comes out with a boyfriend??? What, are there just horny fuckers waiting in bushes for my brother to pass by?

HolstG: Look it’s not that bad

GlennF: I bet he set this whole trip up to meet with him. Felix never even told me he was dating anyone

HolstG: He seems really happy. And this Dimitri guy really likes him. Didn’t you enjoy Fhirdiad?

GlennF: I guess. I just don’t like my brother keeping secrets from me

HolstG: ...you didn’t tell him we were a thing until he caught us in the kitchen

GlennF: Okay but he was only 17 then and I didn’t want to taint his mind

HolstG: 17??? That’s a normal age, what is wrong with you?

GlennF: Sorry, fuck, I just worry too much. You know how younger siblings can be

HolstG: Yeah, don’t remind me. Hilda can be a handful with all the boys she brings home..

GlennF: God yeah. And Felix keeps secrets from me. Fucking ass.

HolstG: You noticed that he’s...different these days?

GlennF: Kinda? He’s been more helpful and...patient, I guess. He doesn’t seem too angry at Caspar. He’s really sweet with Petra. He doesn’t seem intimidated by Cass anymore and he even encouraged her to go after that girl she had been texting. And he really, really, really likes to hear you talk.

HolstG: you don’t?

GlennF: goddess no. Mr. I-took-a-philosophy-class-once-and-I-know-how-the-world-works

HolstG: BAsicallY

GlennF: hm. Well Felix and Leonie also signed up for a kendo class together so that should be entertaining

HolstG: yeah he really seems happier these days. I wonder what changed.

GlennF: it’s fucking obvious

HolstG: yeah I know. He’s in love

GlennF: That’s disgusting. I was gonna say that he’s clearly get some from that stupid boyfriend of his but whatever

HolstG: how is what I said disgusting but not what you said???

GlennF: You make it sound like some fairy tale, sap

HolstG: well, I’m sorry for believing in love, Glenn. Love...what we have is very important to me.

GlennF: do you ever regret it? Leaving your family's company for me?

HolstG: not a day passes in my mind that I ever cared for it. You’re all I wanted

GlennF: ;)

GlennF: Fuck

HolstG: Later?

GlennF: nooo, Felix came home with that man

HolstG: His name is Dimitri

GlennF: Wtf?

HolstG: ????

GlennF: I think Dima is a sugar daddy

HolstG: He got Felix a watch or something?

GlennF: It’s a fucking sword  
  


**Author's Note:**

> The third entry of Fairy Tales in the Dark is even longer than the last story and I fear I may have thrown myself into a mini-competition I cannot escape from XD 
> 
> Anyway, I want to wish everyone a happy Halloween since that was this fic was written for (even if it's not spooky in the slightest, just violent) and I can't wait to read what everyone else has written for this special day! 
> 
> I have a [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/Meatbike344)


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